


phantom pains

by sunsetters (sanitized)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Slow Burn, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, canon-compliant misgendering, canon-typical child abuse, character projections . . . in MY coping mechanism fic? it's more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanitized/pseuds/sunsetters
Summary: Killua moves into his new apartment.He's not alone.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 189
Kudos: 303





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this fic! I recently rewatched HXH and episode 131 made me Feel Things so here is my labor of love.

When the day finally comes that Killua moves into his new apartment, he calls Leorio and Kurapika to help him. Ideally he would’ve liked as many people to come as possible to make it quick, but his other friends are either busy or out of town, and besides, he doesn’t want to bother more people than he needs to. Leorio and Kurapika would be incensed if he didn’t ask them, so he asks and they agree. On a sweltering Saturday night, the three of them haul boxes and bags and everything in between up three flights of stairs. There are no elevators, because the apartment he’s chosen is targeted towards university students and nobody their age has _that_ kind of money. At least no one who lives in the part of town he does.

The landlord watches them sweat and grunt and then goes out to his truck to smoke. Tonpa is a greasy middle-aged man whom nobody likes, but the price of his apartment is too sweet to pass up.

They start off with the heavy-duty furniture sitting at the back of Leorio’s cousin’s friend’s pickup truck. Thankfully the place comes with chairs and tables, so it’s mostly the large black sofa that daunts them. 

Kurapika and Killua take a breather after the sofa is comfortably installed in the living room at no small cost to its bearers. Killua is wearing his rattiest, loosest gym clothes. Kurapika looks more put together, having come straight after his part-time job at the library, but both are sweating profusely. Kurapika leans against the arm of the couch and tips his head back.

“My spine is creaking,” he says.

Killua snorts but is too assed to come up with a proper response. The hum of the ceiling fan pervades the room. The low drone snakes its way through the apartment, spreading out from the living room to the kitchen, down the hallway to the bathroom and two bedrooms, and leaks out of the fire escape. The night smells of dust and mothballs, but when the breeze dances in through the window, it carries the fresh salt from the sea with it. His new apartment is close to the beach.

Leorio breaks through their reverie with the crash of two large duffel bags dumped unceremoniously at the entryway.

“Hey,” Killua protests, without much force.

“Hey yourself,” Leorio says. His tie is loosened, allowing the collar of his white button-down to gape open, and he slouches against the doorframe, the tips of his hair brushing against the ceiling. His face flushes pink and sweaty, and his huffing and puffing reminds Killua of a bee. “What’s in these, porn mags? Jesus Christ, my back’s going to give.”

“Stop projecting. They’re my textbooks.”

“That’s what I said,” Kurapika says. “About the back, I mean.” To prove his point, he twists viciously from side to side, then slides gracelessly down the arm of the sofa with his legs hanging over the side. Killua assumes they’re officially on break, then.

“You can pay for a chiropractor for me, Killua.”

Killua squints at him. “Weren’t you just bragging earlier about how strong and manly you were?”

Leorio flashes him a grin, wolf-teeth and sharp edges. “Yeah, baby. Check out these guns.” He flexes his biceps. Leorio is one of his oldest friends, with all the charm of the class clown and none of the stupidity. Sometimes he wonders, though. Killua rolls his eyes and Kurapika sighs from the sofa.

“All people care about nowadays are pretty boys,” Leorio says. “You know what that is? That’s hunk erasure.”

“That’s not true,” says Kurapika.

“It  _ is _ true ― ”

Killua ignores them. They bicker like a married couple on the verge of divorce, and that’s on the good days.

He leans back slowly with his hands on his hips, deltoid muscles straining with him. Is this what old age perpetually feels like? Exhaustion and tension all over? He supposes that his muscles wouldn’t ache by the time he’s old, at least. They wouldn’t exist by then. Instead all the pain and grittiness he feels now will migrate to his bones, swimming inside the marrow, to the parts of him that he can’t heal with a cold compress or a good night’s sleep. That’s just what growing up is like.

Come to think of it, he’s already bone-tired as he is right now at the fresh young age of twenty-two. Killua frowns. Surely it isn’t normal. Not normal to go to bed dreaming of the past, and wake up in the morning planning the future. It’s a switch in his brain that he can’t turn off. Killua wishes he could bury his doubts and worries deep beneath him, at least enough that Alluka won’t be able to tell. She’s a perceptive person though. He looks around his new apartment ―  _ his _ money and  _ his _ name on the lease ― and prays that it will offer him some comfort.

Leorio and Kurapika’s argument had petered out while he had been spacing out. Killua looks at his friends and their drooping faces. It’s getting late and both of them are students like him with part-time-but-really-full-time jobs. They still have the suitcases and boxes of clothes, cooking appliances, books, electronics, and cleaning supplies to get to.

“Pizza’s on me,” he says.

Leorio lets out a tired but sincere whoop. Kurapika says “Thank you.” Killua waves it off, feeling a pang in his stomach. He can’t afford anything better until his next paycheck comes in. Pizza is a shitty repayment for hours of manual labor, and he knows it, they know it. They all just ignore it in the same way they ignore the conspicuous lack of family pictures among Killua’s belongings.

“Your landlord’s an asshole,” Kurapika says, staring at the ceiling.

Leorio huffs out a breath. “He watched me drop a box on my foot and laughed.”

“He is,” Killua agrees. “Tonpa’s been giving me a hard time ever since he found out Alluka was coming.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Leorio says. “In what way?”

“He, like, wiggled his eyebrows. Super fucking gross.”

“Bastard.”

“I almost decked him right then and there.”

“Need any help with that?”

“Nah,” Killua says. “I mean, I got it.” Tonpa knows better than to mess with Alluka, he hopes. Neither the law nor God will help him if he ever creeps on her.

They lapse into silence after that. The dust motes in the air twirl like fireworks, and a police siren wails in the distance. Other than that, it’s a quiet night. Kurapika suppresses a sneeze and checks his phone. Leorio twists his torso from side to side, cracking and popping his joints. 

Killua counts to three, then forces his weary feet to the door. His friends follow with an expression of resolve on their faces. It’s only a few more boxes, and then all that Killua owns in the world will be here, safe, in his new house. It’s only a few more boxes.

Killua can’t help the small “Sorry” that escapes him.

They turn around at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at Killua.

“Killua,” Kurapika sighs.

“Don’t you start with that,” Leorio says darkly. He slaps Killua on the back as he passes them on the stairway, but it’s softer than it usually is. Leorio’s a softie at heart. There’s no real sting to his words. They all know it.

“Hey, Kurapika,” he says, turning to the shorter boy, “you wanna bet who can lift more ― ”

“No.”

“Jeez. No one appreciates these arms.”

“We all do, Leorio,” Kurapika says, sickly sweet. Killua wolf-whistles. They giggle as Leorio chases them all the way downstairs.

* * *

It’s later in the evening. The moon has fully entrenched itself into the fabric of the sky, bleeding white in the ink blue background. It’s a full moon, which Killua thinks is auspicious. The overhead fluorescents are nasally yellow in comparison. The wind carries the scent of the ocean. Killua doesn’t like the sea because he prefers the water that he swims in to be a little less  _ alive _ . No seaweed tickling his legs or sand particles sneaking into his shorts. When he swims in concrete pools he doesn’t get hit with the sense that he’s swimming in the flotsam of an entire ecosystem. But the sticky moisture on his skin as the breeze comes in from the coast is glorious tonight.

“God- _ damn _ it.” Leorio’s bellow echoes throughout the apartment. “Where are those fucking  _ keys _ ?”

Killua catches sight of a silvery shine on the dining room table. “Here,” he shouts.

Leorio comes stumping into the room. He’s angry and buzzing with energy.

“Weren’t there when I checked earlier,” he says.

“This makes four,” Kurapika says.

“Isn’t it five?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Leorio says. The first two times, they hadn’t even thought to keep track of the number of times he’d lost his keys only to have them magically reappear on the table. On the third try, it had become the basis of a secret bet between Kurapika and Killua. One that Killua’s winning.

“Your memory’s going,” he says. Leorio growls and snatches a pillow from the couch to throw at him. “Time for the nursing home!”

“I fucking hate you, you brat.”

“Stop running around,” Kurapika begs. “You’ll make it hotter in here.”

“Stop hiding my keys, then.”

“We’re not!”

“We’re really not.”

They all look around at each other.

“It’s so hot,” Kurapika says eventually.

“It's the climate change,” Killua suggests.

“Climate change isn’t real, Killua.”

“What the ― what the fuck?”

“Wait, what?” Leorio stares at him. “I’m joking.”

“W-why would you joke about that?”

“I thought you were a flat-earther?”

Kurapika dissolves into fits of giggles.

“Who the fuck told you that?”

“Zushi.”

“Huh.  _ Fuck _ Zushi. He’s got it coming for him.” Killua plops into one of the seats around the table. It’s wooden with a straight back and not the most comfortable chair to sit in, but right now it’ll do. “Leorio, I’m offended ― you ― you thought I really was a flat earther?”

“Man, you believe in ghosts,” Leorio says. “I roll with it. I roll with all kinds of people.”

“Ghosts are different,” Killua points out. He suppresses the urge to tell them right then and there. Leorio and Kurapika were among his two closest and oldest friends, but even they didn’t know the family secret. To be fair, not many outside of the Zoldyck clan did. It’s a point of honor and trust among the family members not to talk of it. 

The Zoldycks were infamously private and aloof from society. Mother had thrown a fit when Dad had suggested sending their children out to school instead of staying home with tutors. It had been a major point of contention between for years. She considered it contrary to their practice of ‘keeping it in the family’ and thought that school would corrupt them. Which, to be fair, it probably did. Killua had already been the prodigal son, insanely talented but rebellious, and college had done nothing but radicalize him.

He still remembered the first college class he had shared with Leorio and Kurapika, both of whom were older than him and already well-versed in classroom politics. They addressed the professor by her first name and got into lively debates about Shakespeare that went back and forth like a ping-pong match. Killua had watched in silence at the sides, fascinated by their volume and their heated gesturing. How did people move and talk like that? More importantly, how could they walk away from that afterward like nothing had happened, the best of friends? Eventually he’d found out that Leorio and Kurapika were high school friends at the same time he found out that neither of them were English majors.

It had been just his luck to pick a Shakespeare theatre class for his art elective. At the end of the year, the three of them worked on the final group project. Leorio was Viola, Kurapika was Countess Olivia, and Killua was Sir Toby of all people. After that, Killua swore to never embarrass himself in front of people ever again. Still got an A, though. He wouldn’t accept any other grade.

“Ghosts are real,” Killua says. He should know.

“It’s kinda the same deal, though,” Leorio says, scratching his head. “Believing in something you can’t see.”

“What ―  _ no _ . I don’t stand for this false equivalence,” Kurapika says.

Killua’s eye catches onto something in the room. “Hey, guys.”

“Yeah it is. Flat-earthers don’t see the earth round, so ― oh.”

“Guys.”

“Yeah, exactly. And it’s to do with  _ evidence _ ― ”

“Guys!”

“What?”

Killua points at one of the cardboard boxes. It’s unassuming and unmarked, sitting among the rest of unopened boxes. The difference is that this one has its flaps pulled open, exposing the contents inside. Killua sees a flash of pink and white.

“Who opened that one?” He asks. Forces his voice to keep calm.

“Not me.”

“Nope.” Leorio stares at it. “You want us to start unpacking?”

“No. No. Guys, not funny.” Killua stands up. “I didn’t open it. I know I didn’t. And I told you, I’ll unpack everything in my own time. So who opened that?”

Kurapika glances at him. “Not us. Why?”

Killua swallows past the lump in his throat. “It’s Alluka’s.”

They exchange glances. Kurapika shakes his head. “I swear both Leorio and I didn’t touch that, Killua,” he says. “Maybe it fell and ripped open and none of us saw.”

“The cut is clean though.” True enough, the box has a neat slit down the middle, like the Y incision in an autopsy. If he looks closer he’ll be able to peer into the body itself. It’s Alluka’s stuff. Killua can’t explain it, but to have her things opened up and touched feels like putting his own organs on display.

Leorio sneaks a look at Kurapika that clearly reads  _ What’s up with him _ ? And Killua feels immensely stupid and paranoid at that moment, but there is a clear mystery sitting here and he doesn’t want to be stuck with a crime scene by the end. But he forces himself to let it go for the sake of his friends. He’ll investigate it later.

If Illumi had somehow . . . 

He can’t bring himself to complete the thought.

“Never mind,” he says. They don’t look convinced.

* * *

“Killua!”

“Yeah.”

“Killua!”

“Coming. Coming,” he hollers. Kurapika is in one of the rooms down the hall and his voice comes out faintly muffled. There’s something weird going on with the acoustics of the apartment. Sound is compressed in this tiny space, like layers of the universe are bunched together and the sound vibrations are getting all messed up passing through them. It doesn’t even sound much like Kurapika, but Leorio is away picking up the pizza, so there’s no one else in the apartment.

Killua sets down the box of cutlery at the kitchen counter and heads down the hallway. The voice had come from his bedroom, so that’s where he goes, but when he opens the door, there is no one inside. He stands and stares for a second.

His eyes dart around the room. Bare walls, bed frame, closed windows. No one. No sound. Nothing else.

That’s when the front door clicks open and he hears someone comes in. “Killua, come help with these bags,” Kurapika calls from the entrance.

Killua suppresses a shiver. He heads out of his bedroom.

“Did you just come from outside?” he asks as he grabs the duffels from Kurapika’s hands.

Kurapika touches his hair. “It’s not raining.”

“No, I mean, I heard your voice calling from the bedroom, that’s all.” Kurapika stares at him. Killua flushes and mumbles, “Never mind.”

“You weren’t just hearing things?”

“I  _ distinctly _ heard it a couple times. It repeated my name.”

“Don’t say  _ it _ ,” Kurapika warns him. Unlike Leorio, Kurapika is more ―  _ superstitious _ is the wrong word. He’s more open-minded to the possibility of the supernatural, is all. 

_ I’m sorry, let me ask them their pronouns real quick next time _ , Killua resists the urge to say, a bit hysterically. Not for no good reason. Most of his life has been about wrestling control back from chaos, and whenever something doesn’t seem right, it pulls the floor out from under him. He sneaks in a couple of deep breaths while Kurapika looks around the room, blinking fast.

The two of them go downstairs to finish unloading the car without another word and wait for Leorio to get back.

* * *

The pizza finally arrives. One box of sausage and pepperoni, one box of vegetarian for Kurapika. Killua picks the broccoli off the latter and eats that too. The area nearby is chock-full of late-night restaurants and convenience stores, a coincidence Killua’s sure he’ll regret once he starts caving into his sugar fix.

They settle around the sofa to eat. The television is already set up, and some news channel is blaring quietly in the background. The room is bare, but clean, and the necessary things are put away and the unnecessary things are languishing in boxes, ready for another day. They descend upon dinner like a pack of beasts, licking their fingers clean by the end of it. Even Kurapika eats more than his usual two slices.

“I think you should consider the possibility, at least,” Kurapika says. Leorio eyes him but says nothing.

“Yeah, maybe.” Killua stares down at his clenched hands.

“It’s too much. The keys, the box, the name-calling. And it’s still your first night here.”

“Are you gonna, like, hire an exorcist?” Leorio asks.

“No.” The sweat on the back of his neck has cooled down, making him feel grimy. The clock on the wall ticks one, two, one, two. “I’ll find a way to get rid of it.” Anything but exorcists. The word opens black holes in his mind’s memory.

“Do you want to stay with one of us tonight?” Kurapika asks.

Killua looks up at his friend and gives him a smile he doesn’t feel. “Nah. It’s chill. Thanks, though.”

“You sure?”

“I have space on my couch,” Leorio says. “If you don’t mind Zepile’s snoring.”

“I have a spare futon,” Kurapika says.

“No. I’ll be fine.” 

Their answering silence is deafening. On the table, the remaining slices of pizza luxuriates in its own oil. Life is a surrealist painting right now, the colors are too bright and shapes aren’t holding their meaning. Kurapika and Leorio’s glances are heavy. The hair on Killua’s arm prickles like the trail of silk over skin.

Is there a ghost in his new home? And if there is, how is he going to get rid of it? At the very least, he needs this apartment to be clean before Alluka gets here.

He hates this. This isn’t how his first night at the new house was supposed to be. It was supposed to be a place to call his own ― a home ― a sanctuary. And now some stupid ghost was freaking them all out. He had better things to worry about.

“Gah, that pizza was so oily,” Killua bursts out. His two friends look at him in surprise. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m bursting.”

“Definitely not the epitome of health, I agree,” Kurapika says after a second.

“Hey, sometimes you just need some good ol’ fats and carbs, nothing wrong with that.”

“But at what cost?”

Leorio sticks his tongue out at Kurapika. “Do I look like I’ll live long enough to care?”

“You want to be a doctor,” Kurapika points out.

“And you’re five-eight and never had acne,” Leorio snaps back. “I don’t care about your opinions on pizza.”

“This is discrimination. Killua, he’s discriminating against pretty people.”

“God, I hope this ghost is quieter than you guys,” Killua says.

Four voices laugh.

They fall silent again. Belatedly, Killua realizes the reason behind the absurdly low price of rent.

“Last offer,” Kurapika says.

“No.” Killua stands up. “It’s late. You should head home.”

They stand up, too. Leorio yawns and cracks his neck. The sound echoes.

“Thanks for helping me today, guys,” Killua says quietly.

“Cut that shit out, I came here for the free pizza. And now I get a free poltergeist thrown in,” Leorio says, and Kurapika smacks his arm.

They eventually leave, Killua all but pushing them out the door. He stays standing at the door, contemplating its solid weight. He wonders if he’ll hear banging doors and slamming windows throughout the night, and what that would mean ― it would mean something corporeal, something that could touch him, something that could harm him . . . 

And Alluka. It wasn’t only his safety potentially at risk. She would be moving in with him in a few months after she graduated high school. 

Their parents had insisted on her staying with them until she graduated college. It was out of spite, nothing more, since no one on either side liked the arrangement. They refused to let her go, no matter how much Killua and Alluka begged. It was only after he had threatened legal emancipation that she’d been allowed to move in with her older brother, albeit under the condition that she graduate high school first.

That’s right, Killua has to take care of his baby sister. In fact, Killua couldn’t care less about living with a ghost if he were by himself ― it meant he wouldn’t be totally alone, at least ― but Alluka deserved nothing less than the best. It would be unacceptable if she were uncomfortable at all, especially considering how they hadn’t seen each other in a long time and it was bound to be awkward. Killua and Alluka, although they were the closest siblings in the Zoldyck family, had never stayed in the same house at the same time for too long while they were growing up. Either Killua was in the countryside with grandparents while Alluka stayed in the city, or it was the other way around. Another parental trick that backfired, since it only made them miss each other more. Once Killua had escaped to a small college town on the coast, he hadn’t looked back except to keep in touch with Alluka.

He was happy about her moving in with him. He was excited. At the same time, it scared him. What if she resented him for leaving her while he went to college? Should he have picked a university closer to home? What if, what if, what if.

These are the thoughts that keep him up at night.

Killua walks to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. He brushes his teeth, counting in his head for two minutes, showers quickly to get off all the sweat and dirt, and changes into a t-shirt and shorts. He closes the curtains, plunging the room into darkness until the bedside lamp is switched on. Killua sits on his bed for a while, tapping away at his phone. Leorio has left him a message.

_ Let us know if you need anything else _ .

He shoots back a reply, and then composes a message to Alluka, picking each word carefully.

_ Hey Alluka, just got done today. One of my friends accidentally opened your box, sorry about that. Everything else is in your room ready for you to move in. How was the maths final? _

Her reply comes a few minutes later.

_ It was fine, I got through the binomial expansions okay but got caught on the graphing calculator stuff. No problem about the box. _

He watches the typing bubbles pop up in the chat box.

_ Can’t wait to move in :) _

He smiles at the screen.

Killua wastes some more time on his phone, jumping from app to app. He’s not yet used to the quietness of this new home. It’s not the same somber silence that had blanketed the Zoldyck mansion like a shroud, the type that emphasized every creak of the door and every  _ click-click _ of heels on marble. Nevertheless it sets his nerves on edge. In time, this place will become home to him like a second skin, and he won’t notice it. That’s his hope, anyway.

Alluka will be comfortable here too. She’ll be happy. He’ll make her happy. It’d been a while since he’d seen her in person, and he isn’t sure how tall she is right now, but he does know her sweet smile and bright blue eyes, so much like his own. His little sister.

_ I hope she loves me. I hope she likes me. _

Around midnight, he heads over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The cold tiles of the floor sting his feet. Killua gets a glass from the cupboard and fills it with tap water, overfilling it to the brim, and slurping the excess from the cup held over the sink. Moonlight filters in, soft and cold, through the small window over the sink.

One of the fluorescents blinks, once, twice, and fizzles out.

Killua looks up.

The refrigerator stops humming.

It’s cold in the kitchen. Colder than it has any right to be.

Sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

He whirls around on instinct.

A boy his age stands in front of him in the narrow room. Killua chokes off a scream.

He has black hair and tawny eyes, tanned skin so dark and  _ solid _ , he’s real and tangible and  _ right in front of him _ .

He stumbles backward and catches himself against the countertop.

The ghost raises his hands in the air.

“Hello,” he says. “Hey ― hey ― I won’t hurt you.”

His voice is pleasant and there’s a faint drawl in there somewhere. 

Killua grips the table with his knuckles. He wonders if it’s too late to scream.

“You’re ― the ghost,” he grits out. His heartbeat thunders painfully in his chest and the edges of his vision are blurred.

“I am,” he says. “My name is Gon Freecss, nice to meet you.”

“What do you want?”

“Sorry about earlier, y’know, with the box. I didn’t know you wanted to keep everything closed.”

Killua just stares at him. Gon has an unassuming face, smile wide and kind, eyes relaxed. He’s wearing a button-up tucked into high-waisted corduroy trousers with a cinched belt. The style looks vaguely old-fashioned, or perhaps this ghost is just into vintage.

Ridiculous. Killua shakes himself out of speculation. He has a fucking  _ ghost _ in his kitchen.

How had his life come to this? Killua believed in ghosts, but what the hell was it that always drew them to  _ him? _

Gon hesitates. When Killua continues to keep his silence, he plows on. “I hope you don’t mind me staying here a while,” he says. “I mean, I couldn’t move on even if I wanted to.”

“You . . . you got a regret, or something?”

“Something like that,” Gon agrees. “That’s generally why ghosts don’t pass over.”

“ . . . All right.”

Okay. Unresolve regrets ― classic. Killua can work with that. He's a solutions-oriented person. 

“So if I help you figure out your problem, you’ll get out?”

For a second the smile falters but Gon’s voice is cheerful as ever as he replies, “Yes.”

Again, ridiculous. As if he cares that he hurt a ghost’s feelings. Even if the ghost looks nice and harmless and even ― charming, in fact. The type of young man whom old grandmothers at marketplaces fawn over and whom mothers instinctively like. The type of man who makes friends easily and whom it’s easy to imagine married life with.

“So, about your memories,” Killua starts, but Gon is looking around the kitchen instead.

“Your friends are good people,” he tells him. “They’re funny.”

“Thanks. So what do you remember about your past life?”

Gon frowns. “Nothing. What were their names? Kurapika and Lerio.”

“Leorio. What do you mean, nothing? At all? You told me your name.”

“Yeah, that’s about it. Everything else ― “ he throws his hands up in the air ― “Poof.”

“Great,” Killua mutters. “Great, great. So I have nothing to work with. Great.”

Again Gon frowns, but the draw of his eyebrows is heavier this time. “Yeah. Sorry. I only woke up in this house a couple weeks ago and I’ve been trying to remember things since.”

“A couple weeks ago? So are you a recent death, or . . . ?” Again Killua looks at his outdated outfit.

“I don’t think so,” Gon says. “I mean, there are a lot of things I don’t recognize in this world. Like this,” he says, touching the door of the refrigerator.

“Mmm. I guess I’ll do some research on the internet.” Killua tries not to contemplate the absurdity of such an action. He has classes in the morning, for God’s sake.

“Are you living here alone?” Gon asks.

“No, my ― “ he bites off his sentence. “I have someone moving in soon.” Actually, Alluka won’t move in until the spring, but Gon doesn’t need to know that.

“Are you gonna be gone by then?” he asks.

Gon gives him an offended grin. “I don’t know about that. It’s not up to me.”

“Right,” Killua mutters. “Well, let’s try get you outta here as soon as possible then.”

This time Gon’s face smooths out completely, devoid of expression. “Yep.” He hesitates, mirroring Killua’s pose and leaning back against the counter. He puts his hands in his pockets.

“Killua,” he says, and Killua starts at the use of his name. “Look, I’m sorry about my ― haunting this place. I’d rather not be a ghost either, but I’m stuck here just like you’re stuck with me.”

“No ― “

“And I promise I’ll go as soon as I can,” Gon continues. “So for now ― we’re roommates, okay?”

He sticks out his hand. Killua looks him up and down.

The corner of his lips turn downwards.

“Yeah. Okay,” Killua says, shaking his hand. He doesn’t even have time to feel bad, because Gon breaks out in a smile at that, all the disquiet slipping away from his face. Gon’s hand is firm and unusually warm.

“Roommates,” he repeats, just to cement it in his mind. He’s going to be sharing his new house with a ghost. “Can we lay some ground rules?”

Gon tilts his head. “Like?”

“Like ― “ Killua snatches his right hand up with his left. “You’re . . . solid.”

“Yes.”

“And visible.”

“I can turn invisible. And also un-solid,” Gon offers.

“Great.” Killua pulls his fraying sanity together. He picks up his cup and takes a big gulp of water, thinking quickly. Midnight hours in small kitchens aren’t the best places to have important discussions. He should really take some time in the morning to come up with a proper plan. He shouldn’t have promised to help Gon, he realizes. Making deals with the supernatural ― not a good idea. At least Gon doesn’t seem like a malevolent spirit, although there’s still a possibility that he might suddenly go all poltergeist on him, hell-bent on revenge.

Ground rules. What are ground rules for roommates normally like? Killua has never shared a room in his life.

“How about ― hm. If I’m in the house, can you stay visible and solid so I know you’re there?”

“Yep!” Gon swings his hands behind his head. “Anything else?”

“Don’t tell anyone you’re a ghost.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t eavesdrop on my conversations, please.”

“I wouldn’t.” 

Killua believes him.

“And.” Killua wracks his brain and comes up with nothing. “That’s it for me. And I’ll help you resolve whatever you left undone in your life.”

“Thanks, Killua.”

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles. He wonders why Gon’s smiles are so bright and wide. He’s  _ dead _ . Does he even fully realize that?

“Well,” he says, putting down his cup of water. “I’m off to bed. You go ahead and . . . do whatever ghosts do.”

“Sure,” Gon says. “Goodnight, Killua.”

“Goodnight.”

Killua backs out the kitchen. He looks back over his shoulder and Gon waves cheerily at him. After a few more steps, he hears the click of the switch as the lights turn off behind him. He knows that if he were to turn around now and look back, he’d find only empty space.


	2. Chapter 2

That night he dreams. Verdant lawns and fluffy skies stretch out on either side of him as far as the eye can see. He’s standing in front of a two-story house. It’s the brick-and-mortar type, cracked and chipped on the surface but still sturdy foundationally. It’s small ― cozy, he amends ― and he can see flowerpots on the windowsills.

For a dream, everything is unusually focused and bright. He can practically see the dew pooling on the grassy lawn. It’s as if someone had turned the brightness and saturation all the way up. 

Killua takes a step towards the house. He used to wish for houses like these. Backyards and treehouses and picket fences. Houses where radiators took a long time to warm up in the winter, but by the time it did, the rooms would be snug and just the right temperature to curl up with a good book. Houses that were as unlike the mansions he’d grown up in as possible. Children needed space to thrive, and they needed freedom, and although Killua had plenty of the former he had never had the latter. This dream house was like something out of a cheesy family movie.

“Aunt Mito!” He calls as he walks in through the front door. “I’m home!” His voice is high ― really high. Is he a girl, or just very young?

“Come help me with the laundry!” A female voice calls from the back of the house. He makes his way there without hesitation, guided by muscle memory through multiple doors and hallways until he reaches the backyard. A tall woman with short auburn hair hangs up bedsheets on the clothesline. He walks up to her and hands her a wet sheet from the basket next to her.

“How was your day, sweetie?”

Killua suddenly realizes that the angle he’s looking up at her must mean ― he’s a child. Of course he is. She wouldn’t talk to him like that otherwise, voice so full of softness.

“Fun!” He says. God, how squeaky he sounds. He hears himself say, “I found the tabby cat from yesterday. He was in the same place and he let me pat him.”

“That’s nice. How was school?”

“Good. On the road there were three worms. Earthworms. They were tangled together.” The words fall out of his mouth unprompted like a waterfall.

She winces. “Oh, dear.”

“It’s okay, I put them straight.”

“Very kind of you, Gon.”

Killua is thunderstruck. Of course he’s Gon. This must be ― his childhood home? Are these Gon’s memories? If these are his memories, then Killua shouldn’t be able to affect the outcome of the events. But why is Killua receiving his memories? Is it an occupational hazard of living in the same apartment? This is a real and proper haunting, all right. 

Gon takes no notice of Killua’s inner analysis and continues handing her pegs. The breeze whips at his shirt and the frills of her skirt. She’s wearing a blouse and full-length skirt, and this time he can tell it’s definitely not from the modern era. He can’t place the decade though.

“What’s for dinner today?”

She hums. “I was thinking red snapper and green beans. Your grandmother picked up a jar of some wonderful chili flakes.”

“I like spicy.” Killua ― Gon ― bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. The late afternoon sun glows under his skin, and he can see the warmth behind her answering smile, too.

She looks like a cookies-and-milk type of mother, and he’s a cookies-and-milk kind of boy. Did Gon miss this? He must. His Aunt Mito loves him so much. Did he grow up with this kind of love?

How lucky.

The dream disappears as quickly as it came, and Killua wakes up to a burning behind his eyelids.

In the morning he gets up, messily makes his bed, and goes to brush his teeth and wash his face. He has a 10am class with Dr Krueger today. In the middle of pulling on a shirt, he remembers fragments of the dream. Groggily he finishes dressing and stumbles out of his bedroom. 

“Gon!”

He walks around the apartment, opening doors and calling his name. He’s not in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the living room and dining rooms. Killua even peeks into Alluka’s bedroom, but he’s not there, either. Gon doesn’t respond, doesn’t materialize out of thin air. Killua frowns. He refuses to entertain the idea that he had hallucinated a ghost last night. The memory was too vivid. He can still feel the phantom grip of Gon’s handshake.

In the end he runs to class after losing track of time. Krueger teases him mercilessly in front of the class, but he knows how to handle her after having been her student for four years. She’s his favorite professor, and although she calls him a brat sometimes he knows he’s secretly her favorite too. Class is uneventful, they’re going over midterm project guidelines, blah blah blah. He sneaks texts to Leorio and Alluka under the table.

He meets up with Zushi for lunch and puts the younger boy in a headlock until he apologizes. Then he hits the gym with Ikalgo, completes a half-assed workout, showers, and heads home.

When he unlocks the front door to his apartment and steps inside, the air is cool and stale. He’d forgotten to leave a window open. Gon is still nowhere to be seen, and now Killua feels stupid when he calls out his name in the silence of the apartment.

He’s still standing in the middle of the living room when Gon materializes next to him. Killua stumbles back and almost topples over the sofa.

“Jesus. Give me some warning.”

“Hey, Killua.”

“Where were you?” Killua sits on the sofa and takes off his socks, pretending that that had been his intention all along.

“I was out,” Gon gestures broadly. “I visited the parks nearby and floated in the sky for a while.”

“You can go out? Like, leave this apartment?”

“Yeah?”

“Huh.” Killua frowns. “That’s . . . hm.”

Gon frowns. “I’m not causing trouble for anyone.”

“Oh, that’s ― I meant. For your background research. Like, I know your name, and your age, roughly. I know your fashion, from which I can guess at the date ― “ he gestures to Gon’s outfit, which is unchanged from the day before. “And I thought I had a location to pin you down, too, but if you’re not limited to this apartment . . . “

“I see.” Gon’s face relaxes back into good humor. It seems to be his default expression. Killua is just bad at talking with others, it seems. “I can leave this apartment, but if I manifest physically for too long, I run out of energy after a while and revert back to my ghost form until I get back. Also, it takes a lot of energy to manifest in front of more people.”

“Oh, so this is like your charging station.”

“I guess.” Gon gives him a confused smile.

For a second Killua feels as though he has been transported back into the dream, but it’s only the smell ― the smell of the sea ― lingering on Gon, that had triggered the memory.

“I saw you in my dreams yesterday,” Killua says. He blushes. “I mean, I  _ was  _ you. In your memories.”

“What’d you see?” Gon asks. He doesn’t ask how and why Killua had appropriated his past. Maybe it was a ghost thing.

“Um. A small house. Cute. It had flowers in the windowsills. Your mother, she was hanging up laundry when I ― you came in.” Was she his mother? He had a nagging feeling that it was wrong. “She asked about school, I think.”

What else had happened? Dreams are nebulous in nature, but that dream in particular stayed stubbornly at the back of his mind. Faces and images shifted and flowed, refusing to disappear completely. Killua thinks hard.

“You were a child, like eight years old, maybe. The sun was warm . . . the air was kind of humid, and salty. Your mom looked like a nice lady and she had laugh lines. But she looked very young still.”

Gon watches him intently. Killua averts his eyes.

“That’s all,” he says. “Nothing much happened.”

“Thank you,” Gon says. He sounds like he means it. “I had a mother, then.”

His voice is quiet with satisfaction.

“You really remember nothing about her?”

“No.”

For the first time, Killua feels pity. To have had such a warm and unconditional love, and to lose it, and not even know you lost it . . .

“Thank you, Killua.” Gon is looking at him, his eyes serious. “For telling me.”

A few days later, Killua gets used to Gon living in the apartment. He no longer twitches at the sound of footsteps coming up behind him, and when he makes coffee in the morning he makes enough for two until Gon apologetically tells him he doesn’t drink coffee, but thank you for the thought. He no longer minds the presence of another person in the room, both of them lounging around doing their own things. Gon leaves the apartment often, and when he comes back he likes to physically open the door and walk in instead of phasing straight through the walls.

“It makes me feel less like an intruder,” he confesses. Killua laughs and offers to get him a key.

Killua’s routine is unchanged for the most part. In the mornings he goes to classes. In the afternoon, Killua comes home, and usually Gon is home by then too. They do their own things, Gon usually discovering and testing out modern-age technology and Killua working on his side job. He designs websites in his free time and freelances for up-and-coming businesses.

One afternoon, Killua sits on one end of the sofa and multitasks through his CS4300 mid-term project and his part-time job. Mumbling about code and snacking on chips, he hacks away at his keyboard.

Gon sits opposite him on the couch. He alternates between watching the TV, which is set to some generic action movie, and watching Killua work. He finds that he doesn’t mind it so much when Gon watches him, mostly because he keeps quiet. He doesn’t even find it anymore creepy that Gon’s a ghost. In fact, anyone looking at the two of them from the outside would only conclude that they were two normal college boys hanging out together. Killua himself forgets a couple of times.

Over time, light slowly leaches from the window. Gon gets up to get him water a couple of times without being asked. Killua is strangely touched. He hadn’t even realized how parched he was, working for hours on end.

When the light bleeds golden through the curtains and the honking of rush-hour traffic finally dies down, Killua shuts his laptop down and stretches his arms above his head, joints popping. The website header which had been giving him a hard time is resolved, his paycheck is coming at the end of this week, and he’s in a good mood. Gon looks up from where he’s playing Temple Run on Killua’s phone. Killua grins lazily at him. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Gon says. “Finished with work?”

“Yeah. Thank God. Whatcha doing?”

Gon holds up the phone. “I got to 5000 points.”

“Psssh. Gimme.”

A couple of tries and ten thousand points later, Killua hands the phone back to a pouting Gon.

“Leorio and Kurapika are coming over next Friday,” he says.

“Oh. Do you want me to head out?”

“No. You can stay. Just pretend you’re my friend or something.”

Gon tilts his head to the side and smiles. He reminds Killua of a bird. “Why would I pretend that?”

Killua flushes and throws a pillow at him. “You’re embarrassing.”

Gon laughs and throws the pillow back, full force. It hits Killua in the face. The threaded surface is scratchy. He resists the urge to sneeze as he whomps Gon back.

“Did Tonpa get back to you?” Gon asks in between beatings. He shields himself half-heartedly.

“Yeah,” Killua says. “He says there haven’t been any deaths in this apartment that he knows of.”

Gon wrinkles his nose. “Hm. I must’ve died a long, long time ago then.”

“Maybe. I don’t trust him though, so I’ll check it myself.”

“Okay.” Gon sits up and leans forward, legs crossed under him. After a second, Killua mirrors him. “Sorry about the extra work, Killua.”

He’s about to brush it off when Gon adds, “You can call an exorcist if you need to once your roommate moves in. I won’t mind.”

“Don’t say that,” Killua says. Exorcists again. How he hated that word.

“I’m just saying. It’s an option.”

“I don’t like exorcists.”

“I knew someone who was exorcised once,” Gon says conversationally. “She lived on the other side of the highway. She was a little girl, ten years old. Her name was Miri.”

Killua stares at him. Gon tilts his head to the side and smiles back.

“What happened?”

“The tenants called an exorcist after a few weeks. She liked to bang doors, you know, for attention.”

“Wow.” Killua isn’t sure what to say. “Does it hurt? Being exorcised.”

“How should I know! I’ve never had it done to me.” Gon shrugs. “I don’t think it does, though. I hope it doesn’t. She wanted someone to play with her, and I think she was just excited seeing a new family move in.”

“I’m sorry,” Killua says.

“Don’t be.” Gon leans forward and grabs the pillow from Killua’s unresisting fingers. “I can show you where she lived, if you want. It’s not too far from here.”

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go sometime.”

“Cool.” Gon makes a shocked face and points behind Killua’s shoulder, then smacks him in the face with the pillow when he turns back around. Killua roars at him and body slams him into the couch. They scuffle with each other, screaming and laughing in equal measure. Killua’s sides hurt by the end of it, and Gon’s cheeks are pink with laughter.

That night Killua has a dreamless sleep.

“How come we’ve never met Gon before?” Leorio asks Killua. 

They’re standing in the kitchen mixing drinks while Kurapika and Gon have a go at each other on Smash Bros. They’re failing equally badly. Kurapika’s avatar dive-bombs off the stage (accidentally or not, no one knows) and loses a life. Gon has a bomb stuck to his character and doesn’t know how to get it off.

“Help!” he screeches.

“That didn’t count,” Kurapika grumbles.

Killua turns back to Leorio. “Only met him recently,” he explains. He tops off each glass with an extra shot of vodka. Truthfully Killua doesn’t know jack about making drinks. He doesn’t even like the taste of alcohol, really, so when he drinks he drinks enough to get blasted and that’s it.

“Wait, do you guys mind?” he adds after a pause. “About Gon.”

“Nah. I’m just surprised. Y’all are close.”

Killua shrugs, ignoring the flush creeping up from his neck. If Leorio and Kurapika, who are disgustingly domestic themselves, say so, then they really must look close to outsiders. Not that it’s hard to look close to Gon, who is physically affectionate and boisterous and could keep a conversation alive with shy bookworms and egotistical assholes alike. He just happens to have the type of personality that draws people in like flies to honey. One of life’s natural lottery winners. Some people are like that. Killua can see it in the way Gon talks, slow and charming. Maybe it’s his easy smiles and frank honesty, maybe some  _ je ne sais quoi _ that has everyone vying to be his friend.

Including Killua, who would settle for scraps.

He remembers a rainy evening a few days ago. He had been working on a tight deadline for a new website promoting essential oils and the client was getting snappy. Most of the time they have a rudimentary knowledge of web coding and expect Killua to be a wizard. He also had three missed calls from his mother ― he must remember to block her new number ― and a group project for class due the next day.

Because of that, the whole apartment had been drowning with his bad mood. Gon was out buying groceries (he didn’t need to eat, but liked to sometimes for the fun of it and to keep Killua company), so Killua had moped and cursed out loud and drank copious amounts of coffee.

When Gon came home Killua had grouchily and rather ungracefully yelled at him about some misplaced shirt. It caught Gon by surprise, but once he got going, he really got going, matching Killua in passion and volume. They went back and forth for some time until Killua had finally let off enough steam and then felt guilty about picking a fight.

“Okay, fine, it was behind the washing machine. I didn’t know,” he said.

Gon put his hands on his hips. “Right,” he said. The drawl in his accent was thicker when he raised his voice, but now he was calmer too. “You’re being really grouchy, Killua. You should get some sleep.”

Killua had glared at him but slunk away with a muttered, “Yeah, whatever.”

After that, work had been a mixed bag. He gave up on niceties with the client and strong-armed them into accepting his version of the website. At least the group project had been completed. Alluka texted him about her day and he almost poured out his frustrations to her before deleting the entire block of text. She didn’t deserve to be burdened with his petty troubles.

He was holed in his bedroom, while Gon was still out there somewhere in the living room. He could hear the radio playing some jazzy music. Killua felt the yawning pit of guilt open in his stomach. It hadn’t been fair to Gon to be so petty and vindictive when Gon was just minding his own business. Killua should know better than to explode from stress. He should’ve known better. Would Gon still consider him a friend? It was just an argument, after all. But they say that anger reveals the person behind. Maybe Gon had a better idea of him as a person now.

The rain hitting the window panes beat a slow rhythm like the sound of the piano melody from the radio. It dulled his brain and soon he was oscillating in the state between waking reality and blind sleep. He slumped over his notes with his head pillowed in his arms.

Gon was probably right. He needed to sleep.

He hoped for a good dream. These childhood memories were pleasant, a gentle countryside reprieve from the busy rush of his everyday life. When he grew older he wanted to have a life like that someday. Slow and deliberate. 

In his subconscious mind he noticed someone come into his room with a soft knock.

It was Gon. He was tiptoeing to avoid waking him.  _ Kind of him _ , Killua thought drowsily.  _ Kind. Kind. Why do I have kindness around me? What did I do? _

He wondered what Gon was doing. He had the sense that the other boy was looking for something. But Killua also sensed that maybe Gon was looking at him, too.

Then he lost all thought for a while.

When Killua woke again, the rain had stopped. Petrichor filled his nostrils from the open window. The table was slightly damp, but thankfully none of the water got onto his notes or his laptop.

He was still slumped at his desk. But now, there was a pillow under his head, and a blanket draped over his shoulders.

So, yes, Killua had low standards. But Gon smashed through them nonetheless.

He smirks at Leorio as he finishes stirring the drinks. “Okay, let’s go. I think this should last us a while.” The ice cubes clink in agreement against the sides of the glass. If this didn’t have them all rolling on the floor by the end of the night he’d sue.

“I didn’t think Gon could drink that much,” Leorio says as they walk out of the kitchen. “Where’s he from again? Hey, Gon, where are you from?”

“Here,” Gon replies. “Born and raised.” He catches Killua’s eye and mouths  _ probably _ . The small house in their dreams is a far cry from the bustling college town they’re in right now. Killua had searched up local deaths stretching back decades, but the name Gon Freecss had appeared nowhere on the internet.

“Oh, cool. You still live with your folks?”

“Uhh. No.”

“I want Kirby,” Kurapika says.

“Too bad.”

“Guys, you can both be Kirby,” Killua says.

“No. Tell Kurapika to get his bitch ass over to Bowser instead.”

“Killua, tell Leorio to get  _ his _ bitch ass away from Kirby. He doesn’t deserve him.”

“We’re starting. Gon, do you even know how to play Pikachu?”

“No. I’ll figure it out. He’s the electric rat, right?”

“Okay, I’ve set the stage to random mode.”

“Wha ― Gon, you don’t know Pikachu? What century were you born in?”

“Leorio, I’m coming for your ass,” Kurapika says.

“Uh, this century. Born this century. Right, Killua?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Hey, check out this move,” Leorio crows. “Am I cool, or what?”

“What?” Killua says.

“I said, am I ― ”

“I heard what you said.”

“Watch out,” Kurapika says.

“Oh, shit, you’ve really done it.”

“I’ll give you the Smash Ball if you stop attacking me.”

“Can’t offer me what I already have, Killua.”

“Fuck!”

Halfway through the round, Killua loses. He leans back on the couch and takes a sip of his cocktail. He catches Gon’s eye. The other boy had lost within minutes of the match starting, leaving their two other friends to duke it out on the tiny stage. Gon grins at him and raises his glass in cheers. They both down their drink like shots. The alcohol courses through his chest like lava.

Gon’s face is flushed and his eyes shine from the light off the TV monitor. Sitting next to Killua on the couch means that they’re squished together, and Gon is warm and solid as ever against him.

Sometimes Killua forgets that his friend is dead. He isn’t really  _ here _ . And yet, when they catch each other’s eye again and giggle, he can’t help but press closer, basking in Gon’s presence like he’s the sun and Killua is helpless not to orbit around him.  _ Some people are lucky _ , he thinks dazedly. The alcohol slurs his brain.  _ They just have a gift for making people love them.  _ They didn’t need to work at it, strive for it, fight for it. It’s not that he resents such people ― after all, they didn’t ask for the gift anymore than anyone else could. Gon’s just lucky, that’s all, and Killua is maybe just the tiniest bit envious. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t care at all as long as he had people who loved him as he was. He would take each day as it came and forget about everything else.

If he did, that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on twitter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the first non-killua pov! it's the first of a few

Killua eventually takes up Gon’s offer to visit Miri’s home. It begins when they go to the nearby skateboarding park. Having completed his work for the day, Killua lounges around the house and completes chores at random like a pigeon picking up crumbs. Gon tries out every electronic appliance he can find for fun, and Killua wanders into the kitchen at just the right time to stop him from putting raw eggs into the microwave (“it doesn’t hard-boil them?”). The sun’s out, loud and proud, so Killua digs out his old skateboard from the closet and they leave the apartment together.

Gon has traded his ghostly outfit for a pair of Killua’s jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. The clothes fit well, although Killua is taller by about an inch.

Once they get to the park, Killua summons all of his skateboarding knowledge from the recesses of his mind and gets to work. After a few attempts, his reflexes are as good as new ― he’s flipping and flying and doing all sorts of tricks, all of which impress Gon greatly. He whoops and hollers at the side, catching the attention of everyone around him, and runs into the rink to get Killua to teach him. That’s how Killua ends up spending his afternoon demonstrating the basics to his ghost friend, who had never in his life touched a skateboard before.

The skatepark is deserted except for a ragged group of teenagers filming TikTok dances in a corner. The balmy air smells faintly of diesel and aerosol paint, the latter courtesy of the graffiti that adorns the walls like Michaelangelo’s murals. The park isn’t too far from his house that it makes going there a problem, but the distance does discourage Killua from going as often as he’d like.

Gon hops onto the skateboard with Killua steadying him. He wobbles.

“And I just push off with one foot?”

“Yeah.”

Gon pats Killua’s hand on his arm. “I think I got it.” He tries to push off with his foot and immediately flails. Killua catches him before he cracks his head open on the pavement. “Maybe not.”

“I shoulda brought a helmet,” Killua laughs. “Can you even get injured?”

“Let’s find out.” Gon, the absolute chaotic bastard that he is, immediately gets back on the skateboard and pushes off before Killua can protest.

“Gon!” Killua yells, his face splitting into a grin. He runs after him. 

He tries to execute a turn and loses his balance. Killua sees the exact moment his arms wobble, then his core, then the boy tumbles to the ground, rolling once or twice. Killua catches up to him, breathless with laughter and worry.

Gon pulls himself upright, grimacing and rubbing his ass. “I can definitely feel pain,” he says. He holds up his hands and shows them to Killua. “No blood, though.”

“You’re crazy,” Killua tells him. They stare at each other for a beat before bursting into raucous laughter. The teens dancing in the corner stop and study them.

They keep practicing long past the sun’s descent in the sky. Gon makes astonishing progress, which is really more a testament to his inability to retain injuries than it is any innate skill. Or at least that’s what Killua tells himself. Swooping up and down the bowl makes the adrenaline flush through his veins. Gon chases after him, videoing him with Killua’s phone.

Once the streetlights turn on, they go to visit Miri’s house, which is just a normal apartment next to a noisy highway. Killua senses no eerie presence. “She’s entirely gone,” Gon says, and Killua tries not to feel how hollow that sounds.

They return home, eat a quick dinner of ramen and dumplings, and Killua sends off a quick text to Alluka before they go to bed.

_ Went to the skatepark today.  _ He hesitates, his thumb hovering over a picture of him and Gon. They’re both doing peace signs at the camera, Killua standing on his skateboard while carrying Gon on his back. Right after the photo was taken, Killua had attempted to skate off and immediately fell over, but the picture reveals no hint of the disaster yet to come. Gon shows up on film as clear and defined as any human being. His bright smile rivals the afternoon sun, and the golden light makes his tanned skin glow bronze. His arm is loosely curled around Killua’s neck. Both of them are sweating slightly. They look ― they look normal. Killua sends the photo to Alluka.

Her response comes after a few minutes.

_ Skateboarding?? I want to go too!! Who’s that? _

_ My friend Gon, _ he types back.  _ You’ve never met him before. He’s a ghost. _

He deletes the last sentence and sends it.

“Hey,” Gon says as he passes by Killua in the hallway. “I’m gonna head out. Goodnight.” Gon doesn’t need to sleep, technically. but Killua has no idea what he does during the night. He assumes Gon just likes exploring the town under the cover of moonlight.

“Night.”

“Sweet dreams.”

His parting shot snags at an idea at the back of Killua’s mind. He reaches out and grabs Gon’s arm.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Dreams. I haven’t been dreaming of you recently. Sometimes I get your memories and sometimes I don’t.”

Gon gazes at him. “I don’t know why either, Killua.”

Since that first dream with Aunt Mito ― who he now remembers is not Gon’s actual mother ― he’s only seen snippets of Gon’s childhood. Scenes of him going to school, talking with fishermen on the pier, exploring forest trails. Killua is aware of himself growing older each night, but as of right now, the dreams are all idyllic and gave absolutely no hints in discovering why Gon is a ghost now. However, it’s not every night that he dreams. This past week, especially, had shown nothing but a wall of grey static.

Killua frowns. “Well, you clearly didn’t die as a child. There must be more.”

They fall silent.

“Maybe I need to do something to trigger them,” Gon suggests.

“Hmm. Then what did we do the first night that started it?”

“Nothing we haven’t done this past week.”

“Maybe there’s another condition we haven’t met,” Killua muses. “What do you do at night while I’m sleeping?”

Gon shrugs. “I don’t know. This past week I’ve been visiting Kurapika and Leorio. In a non-creepy way,” he adds.

“You’ve been out.” Killua grabs his shoulders in his excitement. “And I haven’t been seeing any dreams. That’s it!”

Gon gives him a confused smile. “What’s it?”

“I dream of you when you’re with me,” Killua exclaims. “I mean, I ― I dream when you’re here ― in the house. Not necessarily with  _ me _ , but― ah, forget it. Stay inside tonight.” He snatches his hands back from his shoulders.

“Oh, I see!” Gon’s face clears. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Killua says. “Okay! Cool. Cool.”

Gon is smiling at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re so smart, Killua,” Gon says.

Killua flushes. “Shut up.”

To have taken this long to figure out such a simple thing is beneath him. Gon just doesn’t know better.

“Goodnight,” Killua mumbles.

“Yeah! Goodnight.”

Sure enough, that night Gon’s memories creep into his mind as soon as his head hits the pillow. Like a movie reel, an image slowly fades into his mind’s eye, sharpening in detail and color until it’s as real as waking life. He’s used to the rapid shift in perspective now, and he’s come to expect the sunshine-laden visions and the soothing domesticity of Aunt Mito’s house.

This time, however, the location is different.

They’re in some kind of warehouse, it looks like. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes line the grey metal walls. A dingy lightbulb illuminates the inside, even though it’s clearly still light outside. Killua looks up and the ceiling is so high. He wonders what it would be like to swing from the rafters, an idea that tickles his imagination. He wonders if it’s his own excitement or Gon’s he feels.

The man sitting opposite him is not someone he’s seen before. He doesn’t look like the other people living in this small coastal town. Maybe it’s the numerous scars lacing their way up his arm and disappearing into his sleeves, each varying in length and thickness. The thickest one curves wickedly like a scythe. Maybe it’s his height ― even though he’s sitting down, Killua can tell that this man is  _ tall _ . Maybe it’s the general sense of mystery shrouding the man. He’s wearing a blue cap pulled low over his long white hair, so low that Killua can’t see his eyes. If he had to describe the man in one word it would be  _ grizzled _ .

“Are you paying attention, Gon?”

Not really.

“Yes.”

Killua is suddenly aware of a weight in his arms.

He looks down and sees a gun.

Oh.

“Remember to always have the safety on,” the man says. “There’s absolutely no reason you should ever have it off unless you’re with me and I give you permission to. Do you understand?”

“Okay!” Gon’s voice is cheerful and unassuming. Killua cannot bring himself to feel the same. He wonders how old Gon is in this memory. Is his voice lower than it was last time? It’s not as scratchy. If he’s a few years older than the last time he dreamed, that would make him ― what? Twelve?

Twelve years old?

The man is still rattling off rules. “Don't point it at other people. Don’t let other kids handle it and pass it around. Don’t show it to anyone just because you wanna show off.”

“I won’t.”

The grizzled man levels a stare at him. Killua wishes his dream-brain would cough up a name, at least. “Is that a promise as a child, or as a man?”

“As a man. I promise I’ll take care of this gun and I won’t use it wrong.”

“Good.” The man’s face relaxes into a smile. He looks kind when he does. “You’re a good kid, Gon.”

Is this ― is this his  _ father _ ?

Killua dismisses the thought as soon as it appears. He doesn’t look anything like Gon. There are no similarities he can find in their features. Besides, if this was his father, where was he in previous memories?

No, this isn’t Gon’s father. At the same time, none of the elderly fishermen or beefy woodcutters or anyone in Gon’s small village had ever given him a gun or shown him how to use one. In fact, why would Gon need to use one anyway?

Who  _ is _ this man?

Killua wakes up to the chirping of birds. They gather outside his window and besiege his room with trills and tweets. He throws off his blankets and pads out of his bedroom. The living room is still cloaked in darkness except a sliver of light peeking through the curtains. It illuminates a huddled figure on the couch.

Gon sleeps curled up, head pillowed on his arms, mouth slightly open. For some reason, he’s contorted in a strange fashion, one that’s sure to leave him with cramps and numb limbs when he wakes up. It’s endearing. The sight of his hands ― tough and calloused, which he had always noticed but never noted ― reminds him of the gun. 

He’d known, of course, deep down. Gon is a ghost. People don’t become ghosts if they die peacefully in their sleep. People become ghosts if they die horrible, painful deaths, at the hands of a hated one. People become ghosts if they die with dreams left unfulfilled. Gon is young, as young as Killua is, and he knows nothing of his own death. His memory had been wiped clean after death. Why, when he needs his memories in order to pass on? Perhaps because it was a kindness to be able to forget. Outwardly, Gon is a happy-go-lucky and positive person, but perhaps that’s only because he doesn’t remember anything.

If Gon regained his memories, would he become what he was in the moment before death? Possibly ― probably ― hardened, hurt, suffering?

Looking down at the face of his friend, peaceful in sleep, Killua asks him,  _ Did you die in pain? Did life demand too much from you?  _ Gon is as unlike him as light is to dark, but for the first time, Killua feels like they have something in common.  _ How much did you suffer? _

Killua gets a blanket from his closet. It’s woolly and warm, patterned with fuzzy rabbits with ribbons on their ears. It’s a little too cutesy for him to use full-time, but it’s the softest thing he owns. He returns to the living room and drapes it carefully over Gon. He tucks the top gently up at Gon’s neck and watches his friend stir in sleep.

There’s an ache inside his chest that feels like dread. 

Killua holds a housewarming party on a Friday night. Palm had just come back into town after her internship had ended, and she couldn’t wait to meet her friends to let loose. She knew Killua had moved in more than a month ago, but had held back the party just for her. So she’s grateful when they finally gather at Killua’s in the evening: Kurapika, Leorio, Senritsu, Ikalgo, and a new friend, Gon Freecss.

She’s glad to see them. Some of them she knows better than others. Leorio has the mouth of a sailor but an altruistic streak wider than the Earth’s equator. Kurapika is reserved and quiet, but can be absolutely feral when it comes to questions of injustice, as befitting his law degree. Senritsu is a talented musician and can read them all for filth if she so chooses to. Ikalgo is brash and loud but loyal to a fault, and her closest friend.

Killua is an enigma. On the surface, he’s like Ikalgo. Bratty and immature. But she knows he’s responsible; no one who pays rent all by himself and supports his younger sister with her college education would be otherwise. She knows he has family problems, the kind that makes people wither inside without noticing, only for trauma to rear its ugly head decades later. He loves his friends, but she’s aware of a slight distance too ― as if he doesn’t trust them fully. At times Palm sees the lines of weariness on his face and wants to dig deep into his wounds to see him flinch, just so he’ll show them his hurt even if he doesn’t want to.

And if she thinks Killua is an enigma, Gon is out of the ballpark completely.

The first thing she notices is that he’s a gentleman. Almost old-fashioned, in fact, in the way that he offers to get her coat for her when she walks into the apartment. He waits until they’re properly introduced to talk with her, and when he does, he’s unfailingly polite but friendly. Not bad-looking either, she notes, although she doesn’t swing that way. Gon is already chummy with the rest of their friends, whom he’s met before, but he’s especially close to Killua.

She can’t even begin to put her finger on it. But there’s something different about Gon.

They start off the night with dinner and alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Palm knows her worth, so she sticks to wine. Ikalgo chugs beer. Gon and Leorio do shots to the cheers of Senritsu, who doesn’t drink (although that girl smokes more weed than anyone Palm knows). Dinner is takeout, which they split six ways (Killua pays for Gon, she notes).

Later they migrate to the living room, where someone predictably suggests Smash Bros and they take turns playing on Killua’s console.

Palm wouldn’t exactly describe herself as an  _ expert gamer _ or anything. But if she can spare the attention to chat with Gon while kicking ass as Zelda, well, that’s nobody’s business but her own. Gon is concentrating hard on the screen, but she doesn’t feel bad striking up a conversation because she knows that any minute now, he’s going to kamikaze off the stage and lose his final life.

“Where are you from, Gon?”

“Here,” he says. The TV screen announces his death and Gon grins ruefully at the TV. He turns around to face her properly. “Born and raised.”

“Oh, do you also go to our college?”

“Uhh. No.” He squirms. “I ― hmm. I dropped out.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It just . . . wasn’t a fit for me.”

“So what’d you do?”

“Why’re you interrogating him,” Killua laughs from across the room. His piercing blue eyes are on Gon as he speaks.

She spreads her hands out. “I’m just getting to know him!”

“I work with animals,” Gon says mildly. 

“Oh, you do? Like, a vet?” 

“No. Animal shelter.” For some reason he darts a glance at Killua, and Palm swears that she sees him nod infinitesimally before Gon answers. In the next second, Killua looks back at the screen, where his avatar is being pummeled by a joint attack from Ikalgo and Senritsu. Unlike her, he can’t afford to carry on conversations right now.

“That’s so cool,” she tells him. “Which one?”

She means it. Although she doesn’t like animals herself, she could see how someone like Gon, who seems to be kind and gentle above all, would extend his empathy to animals and cherish them with his care. She absently counts the animal shelters she knows of in this town and is startled to find that they’re all at least an hour into the inner city. Does Gon own a car?

“Palm, stop showing off and come fight me,” Kurapika says. His face is flushed with the effect of two after-dinner martinis. She swings her attention away from Gon and does as Kurapika asks, torpedoing Kirby to oblivion. Leorio high-fives her.

In her peripheral vision, she notices Gon get up and go towards the kitchen. Is he fetching a drink? After a few seconds, Killua stretches.

“I lost,” he tells the room. He stands up and saunters off in the same direction as Gon. His air of nonchalance doesn’t fool her, but she wonders what they’re talking about. The two most mysterious people in the room, the only two she can’t get a grasp on, and they have some kind of secret? Juicy.

After Killua leaves the room, Palm leans in. Senritsu catches the glint in her eye and leans in too.

“Are they . . . ?”

“What?” Ikalgo says.

“I don’t think so,” Senritsu says. “Although Gon is always in the apartment when I come around, even when Killua’s not here.”

“Oh. Maybe they’re roommates,” she says.

“Oh my God, they were room― “ Ikalgo smacks Leorio with a pillow before he can finish the sentence.

Kurapika shakes his head. “No, they’re not. Alluka’s moving in with Killua after she graduates in the spring.”

Killua has the devil’s ears when it comes to all mention of his sister. He walks back into the living room, Gon right behind him. They’re both holding refilled glasses but otherwise look unaffected. “What about Alluka?”

“She’s moving in with you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, where’s Gon going to stay then?” Palm asks.

“I’ll move out by then,” Gon tells her.

“You don’t live here,” Killua corrects him gently. It’s quiet, but everyone hears it. Gon looks momentarily caught, although he corrects himself immediately and flashes a grin.

“Oh, right. I just said that because I come over so often.”

Palm regrets her meddling. Killua twists his hands together awkwardly. He looks as if he regrets being born. Gon, however, merely smiles at him and cocks his head to the side.

“Let’s team up next round and get Palm together,” he suggests.

“You’re on,” Killua says, although he sounds as guilty as if he had just kicked Gon out to the curb.

After midnight, a switch is flipped and everyone’s neural pathways rewire themselves to go absolutely buckwild. Wrestling matches. Shouting matches. Contests and games and free-for-alls. Someone’s playing music from their playlist that alternates from hard rock to circus soundtracks. The alcohol’s gone, and everyone’s burning it off with sweat and joy. At any given point there are two groups; one participating in the shenanigans, and one sitting aside, sipping drinks and judging. Palm sits firmly in the latter.

Finally Ikalgo suggests Truth or Dare. A classic. Palm begins formulating a plan of attack.

“I reserve the right to pass on a truth or a dare, and I will drink if I . . . invoke that right,” Kurapika intones. He’s pretty far gone by now, barely holding onto the vestiges of sanity with nothing but pride.

“Shut up, everyone knows what your answer would be if you had to fuck someone in this room,” Killua says.

“Wait, that’s not fair. Senritsu doesn’t drink,” Leorio says.

“I’ll perform a party trick if I pass,” Senritsu says.

“You do  _ not _ ,” Kurapika says, waving a glass in Killua’s face. He frowns. “I  _ don’t _ have an answer. Fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, who’s first.”

They go around. Of the dares, Killua and Gon are the harshest, in the sense that they’re the most creative and also the most lacking in self-preservation and dignity. Killua, who must be pretty far gone himself, dares Gon to juggle with kitchen knives. Leorio stops them. Gon dares him back to sext Tonpa. Again, Leorio intervenes. 

Of the truths, Senritsu is devastating at asking just the right questions. Everyone endures her rounds.

“Gon, truth or dare.”

“Dare!”

“You’ve chosen too many dares,” Leorio says. “I don’t want to practice my medical degree by giving you first-aid next time.”

“Uhhhh fine, truth.”

No one says anything for a second. Then Palm decides, fuck it, everyone has been asked this question at one point in their lives, right?

“How many bodies do you have?” she asks.

Gon shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Uhh.”

Okay, so he’s not a kiss-and-tell kinda guy. Palm respects that. “I can ― ” she starts.

“Are you asking me how many people I’ve killed?”

Killua chokes on his water. After a beat, Leorio and Ikalgo break out into laughter, and even Kurapika giggles.

“That’s not what that ― “

“No, Gon ― ”

“I can’t believe ― “

They dissolve into hysterics. Palm smiles, but she notes the frank confusion on Gon’s face and the glance he sends Killua. They’re engaged in some weird telepathic conversation, one that no one else is privy to, and that’s fine, Palm isn’t nosy enough to want to know the details. She just wishes she could put her finger on why Gon is such a mystery. On the surface he’s a cheerful, polite, attractive guy. A friend of Killua’s. Yet they seem to have some other connection, something else that ties them together. Otherwise how would they have become friends so fast? She knows Killua and how he puts up walls upon first meeting other people. It’s frankly impossible that they would’ve become best buddies so quickly without some other factor being involved.

“Okay, okay. Killua next,” Ikalgo says. “Truth or dare?”

Killua is unprepared. “Uhm. Dare.”

“Nope. You hit your quota too.”

“Fine. Truth.”

Senritsu goes for the jugular, as she always does. “Do you have anyone you like right now?”

“What?” Killua’s face suffused with color. “Ew. No.”

“Ew? What are you, five?”

They jeer and heckle him a while longer until Palm takes pity on him and volunteers herself for the next question. She knows Senritsu and she knows why she’d asked that question. The answers weren’t legally binding, after all.

At around four in the morning, Kurapika and Ikalgo stumble out of the apartment, chaperoned by Senritsu and Leorio, who can at least tell his right hand from his left. Palm stays behind to help clean up, as does Gon. They pick up bottles and plates and cups and forks and napkins and all other kinds of memorabilia. Gon wipes the table and Palm tidies away the game controllers. Killua drunkenly tries to help by straightening the pillows on the couch, but mostly he follows Gon around and gets in his way.

Gon asks her about her job, which she explains and then rants about. After that, she asks him how he and Killua met.

“We met at the skatepark randomly,” Gon tells her. “How about you?”

“We shared a computer science class last year until I realized I hated it and dropped my major.”

“Same,” he says. “I’m terrible with technology.”

She’d noticed. He holds phones like they’re a foreign concept. And his knowledge of cultural trends and references are off, to put it mildly. They finish putting the apartment back together. There’s a landfill of trash in the kitchen, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Killua to figure out.

As she’s picking up a stray piece of plastic wrapping from the table, she happens to glance at the living room. What she sees, she can’t exactly describe. It looks as if . . . Gon  _ shimmers _ out of existence. His form wavers, and for a second she can see  _ through _ him. Then she blinks, and the effect is gone. Weird.

Gon doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong.

“Did you drive here?” he asks her.

“No.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers, which is very sweet and makes her wish she was attracted to men.

“It’s all right,” she says. “My girlfriend’s coming to pick me up in her car.”

“Oh, good.”

“You should go to bed,” she says. “Um. I didn’t want to ask earlier ― ”

“Oh ― ?”

“I mean, in front of everyone ― ”

“That’s fine, go ahead.”

“But where do you actually live?”

Killua ambles up to them. “Gon lives with  _ me _ ,” he says, voice pitched high. “Right? I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

“Right,” Gon says, slipping an arm around Killua’s shoulders, steadying his drunk friend. “Don’t worry about that.”

“So it’s kind of a long story,” he says to Palm, “But I can’t go back home right now because of . . . family problems.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll blow over soon.”

“No it won’t,” Killua slurs. “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” He stares at Gon.

Gon laughs and shifts Killua’s weight. He’s probably carrying him by now. Palm is sure she’d seen him drink just as much as Killua, and earlier his cheeks had been just as pink as everyone else’s. But now it seemed the alcohol had simply evaporated from his system. “Thanks. I think you should go to bed, Killua.”

“I’m serious. You’re ― ” Killua’s face falls. “Unless you don’t want to stay?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Gon says. Palm thinks she should probably exit this conversation as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. Gon glances at her. She jolts into action, grabbing her purse and phone.

“I’m off,” she says. “Bye, Killua, Gon.”

“Bye, Palm.”

“Night.”

“You should probably sleep now,” Gon says gently as he guides Killua away. Again his image flickers briefly, turning transparent at the edges. Maybe she'd drunk more than she thought.

“‘Kay.”

Palm shuts the door behind her, thoroughly intrigued.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw mentions of abusive families a la the zoldycks.

When he was younger, Killua wanted to be a pirate. The aesthetic appealed to him: the swashbuckling, the weapons and chest of treasures, the open sea and the call of adventure. He wanted to climb the rigging and scale the main mast. He wanted to sit in the crow’s nest and watch the sea stretch and swallow up inferior ships. He wanted to run around while storms brewed and hang on for dear life to the rails. Most of all, the idea of a pirate family appealed to him. His fascination with them grew so much that he wrote about them in his journal every single day until his mother grew tired of reading them and passed them off to Illumi. Then Illumi would note down every detail, and ask Killua about them, and made him believe that his older brother, too, loved pirates. He bought Killua pirate ship models and pirate dolls and then he would burn them when Killua misbehaved.

But for those few days in which he was proud of liking pirates and ecstatic that his brother liked them too, he got dangerously close to entitlement. He felt _entitled_ to being happy, and adopted it as normalcy when any normal person would’ve seen that it wasn’t. For those few days, he gorged on pride and joy and security until he forgot reality. Looking back on it now, Killua was ashamed of his naivety.

But now he was reverting back. How else would he explain the frightening ease at which he got used to being happy?

The new home was part of it. It wasn’t really new anymore, now that he had lived here for a few months. He looked forward to coming home every day, to the space where he could be himself and relax, to the place where only he and Gon and Alluka knew the address.

But the biggest factor by far was Gon. He felt ― and it was horrible to even admit it to himself ― he felt  _ entitled _ to Gon. It was stupid. Foolish. But just like when he was five years old and loved pirates, he was powerless to stop it. He wakes up in the morning and tells Gon about his dreams. They eat breakfast together, a proper one, not sugary cereals or a meal bar, and Killua heads to class. When he comes back, they go out to the park to skateboard, or a new cafe to try out the seasonal drinks. When it rains, they stay indoors and Killua works on school and other projects while Gon curls up with him on the sofa and keeps him company. They go grocery shopping, run errands, meet up with friends, eat dinner, and sleep. Always together. Killua doesn’t think twice, and neither does Gon.

That’s why when it does change for the worse, Killua has only himself to blame.

“I think this used to be your old house,” he says one day.

Gon looks up from where he’s watering the flowers growing in pots on the windowsill. Another new addition to his home. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “At first, I thought since your house was in the countryside and this town’s pretty urban, that this was just ― where you died. But I think I recognize the beach from your memories. Your town was probably built over and developed. That’s why you’re strongest here.”

“You think I died at home?”

“Not necessarily. Maybe you died somewhere else and just came back because you grew up here. It’s natural to be attached to your home.”

“I see.”

“I’ve been looking at old newspaper archives at the library,” Killua tells him. “I’ll find your obituary eventually.” He had enough information to do a decent search. He had even found out the name of the grizzled man in the cap. Kite wasn’t Gon’s dad after all, but they spent a lot of time together and Kite had been a pseudo-parent to him, even if Killua was wary of the type of lessons he taught Gon.

“Good,” Gon says. “I’ll come along too next time to help.”

“Sorry, college library,” Killua says. “You need an ID.”

“Aww.”

He goes back to poking at the soil in the flowerpots.

“What about you?” Gon asks suddenly.

“What about me?”

“Why aren’t you attached to your home?”

Oh.

Well, it’s not as if he hadn’t anticipated the question. He stalls for a moment, considering how best to frame it. While he’s thinking, Gon abruptly gets to his feet and whirls around to face Killua.

“I forgot to say. Someone came by earlier today.”

“Oh, who? When?”

“While you were in class. I don’t know him, he was tall and lanky and had really long, black hair.”

Killua switches to manual breathing. “Long black hair?”

“Yeah. You know him?”

“That’s my brother. Illumi.”

“Your brother?” Gon does a double-take. “Your hair is white. And his eyes were black.”

“We ― we have some crazy genetics. What did he do? Did he see you? Did he ― “ the breath hitches in his throat “did he come in?”

“Yes. Sorry.” Gon bites his lip. “He surprised me because he unlocked the front door, so I turned invisible. I don’t know how he got the key. I thought maybe it was a friend of yours? But I would’ve known or heard of him otherwise.”

Killua grabs his arm. Gon jumps slightly. “Did he touch anything?”  _ Please not Alluka’s, please not Alluka’s. _

“He started opening some drawers in your room,” Gon says, slow and steady. His hand comes up to cover Killua’s. “That’s when I started banging doors and flicking the lights on and off. He got out pretty quick. He didn’t see anything more than your socks, I promise.”

“Okay. Okay. Thanks, Gon.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Killua lets go of his arm, embarrassed and hoping he hadn’t left an imprint on his skin, but Gon keeps his hold on Killua’s hand.

“What’s wrong with him?” He says. His brows are drawn together in concern.

“Illumi? A lot of things.” Killua draws in a breath. He lets his fingers curl against Gon’s even as his temples pulse. Anxiety starts creeping in on the horizon. He hates talking about Illumi. Most of all, he hates how talking about Illumi still has this effect on him. 

“He’s my manipulative asshole brother who wants me to go back to the family.”

“A stalker?”

“Yeah. He’s out for Alluka, too, although for different reasons.”

“Huh.” Killua realizes that it’s not concern, but anger in Gon’s face. “I should’ve beat him up before he left. Next time.”

He laughs. It comes out weak. “Thanks.”

“Anything.” Gon gives their intertwined hands a squeeze, and drops it. “I wonder how he even got in.”

“Maybe Tonpa let him in? That’s illegal though.”

“I can go steal back your rent money,” Gon suggests.

“No, no. I’ll talk with him first.”

There’s a short pause, in which Killua is aware of Gon scrutinizing him. Shame floods through him, hot and heavy. Why couldn’t he have had a mother like Mito? Why did he have to be the one with the embarrassing childhood, the conspicuous lack of family photos, the awkward answers to well-intentioned questions? He doesn’t want Gon’s pity.

“So that’s why you’ve never mentioned family to me. Other than Alluka.”

“Yeah, they’re not the people I’m most proud to be associated with.” Killua grimaces. “Illumi’s got both of my parents’s crazies combined, so he ― how do I explain this? He wants to make me _live_ _in a way that brings honor to the Zoldyck name_ ,” he parrots.

“Wow,” Gon agrees. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” Gon squeezes his hand.

“Don’t be. I’m not with them anymore.”

“Hey,” Gon says. Killua doesn’t know why Gon is still looking at him like he thinks Killua will explode and he’s the bomb disposal team.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah? Why.” Killua shrugs. “Illumi’s whatever. I’ve dealt with him for twenty-four years and I’ll deal with him forever. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” Gon says. He tugs his head in the direction of the TV. “You wanna eat dinner now? I’m hungry.”

“Sure. Whaddya want?”

“Something healthy,” they chorus at the same time. Gon grins at him. Killua smiles back, the action so familiar and natural to him. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He felt entitled to these smiles, both from him and from Gon. The corner of his mouth trembles.

Gon doesn’t notice, since he doesn’t say anything. Killua chops vegetables for the stir-fry while Gon cleans and cuts up the fish. They work in harmony in the small space, bodies moving around each other, elbows occasionally brushing. Killua almost suggests putting on some music, or something, because his mind is honestly fraying a little bit and he wouldn’t mind a nice distraction.

When they sit down to eat, Gon brings their plates in front of the TV. Killua raises his eyebrows but follows suit.

“I wanna watch a movie,” he says.

“Sure,” Killua says. “Action? Comedy? Thriller?”

“Action.”

“Thought so. Have you watched the  _ Bee Movie _ ?”

“Is that its name?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Good. It’s educational.”

See, this is what he gets for being entitled. It means that when reality bites back, it bites back hard. He can’t concentrate on the movie, and dinner tastes like sludge, utterly tasteless and blocking up his throat, even though rationally he knows it’s a good meal. He quotes the entire first five minutes of the script verbatim to a bemused Gon, and he laughs at all the right places, but deep down he knows he’s not into it. Images flash before his eyes, but they’re just shapes and lines and they don’t mean a thing.

Alluka sends him a text halfway through the movie but he can’t bring himself to open it and reply. If he does, he’ll spiral, he really will. He wills himself to sit like stone and finish the movie.

Gon doesn’t notice, thankfully. Killua can’t imagine something more embarrassing than being so disturbed by a stalker brother that he can’t enjoy the goddamn _Bee_ _Movie_. Gon keeps his eyes on the screen and delights in the absurdity of it all, so much so that he doesn’t even notice that his arm is looped around Killua’s arm and that he’s slowly tracing patterns with the tip of his finger. Killua ignores the sensation at first. It’s tickly, is all, and he’s already used to Gon’s displays of physical affection. But slowly he devotes himself to trying to figure out what pattern he’s tracing on Killua’s arm. Are those words? Meaningless squiggles? No, those are definitely letters, the way his finger lifts off and presses back down again to indicate a new word. That’s an L right there, and . . . maybe an A. It’s hard to tell. He doesn’t even know if Gon writes cursive.

Eventually he notices other things. Like the weight of Gon’s arm pressed into his side, his head leaning against Killua’s shoulder. His hair smells like lemon, the same shampoo that Killua uses. Killua breathes it in, trying not to be obvious, but it’s really good and he wonders why they don’t sit this close more often.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Gon says. He points at the courtroom drama unfolding on screen.

Killua hums. “Movie logic.”

“Didn’t even have movies when I was alive,” Gon says. He sounds drowsy, or maybe Killua is projecting. Raindrops tap at the window. It’s close to midnight now and the sofa is so, so warm.

By the time the movie finishes, they’re both slumped over each other like hot metal under the sun. Killua’s limbs are so impossibly tangled with Gon’s that to untangle them is a hassle he’s not willing to bother with. 

“Well, that was . . . something,” Gon says as the credits scroll down the screen. “It makes me feel like I should get a job.”

Killua snorts. “Like what? Animal shelter?”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. What do you want to do, Killua?”

“Job-wise?”

“Whatever-wise.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it.”

“You’re a computer science major, right? Palm told me.”

“Yeah. But I don’t really know if that’s what I want to do . . . ”

They fall silent listening to the rain. Gon’s hand continues tracing letters on Killua’s bare skin. Very slowly, very deliberately. Killua feels compelled to speak.

“College allowed me not to think about it, y’know, my future. Because I could just focus on getting my degree and hanging out with friends.”

Gon hums in agreement, and Killua continues.

“But now that I’m gonna graduate, I have no idea. I need to make enough money to support me and Alluka at the very least. But no job really speaks to me, you know? I guess I have no real direction.”

Killua suddenly stops talking, realizing he’s saying all this to a dead person with no chance at a future. But Gon looks up at him and in the dim light of the living room his eyes glow with golden flecks. He gives him a soft smile that says  _ go on _ and Killua complies, helpless.

“I wish . . . we were born with a duty. Yeah. Sometimes I think I would be happier knowing I had a set role in life. I was more content when I was sure. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“But then that’s the kind of message Illumi and Mom always pushed onto me and I hated that. So it’s a good thing I have freedom now. I’m grateful. I just have no idea what I want to do with it.”

“What did you want to be when you left your family?”

Killua stares at him. “Um, free.”

“But what did you want freedom for? When you left?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t think that far. I just wanted to be happy.”

“And you aren’t now?”

“I . . . I am.”  _ And that’s the problem. _

Gon scrunches up his face. It’s cute the way his nose wrinkles. “So what’s the problem?”

“I . . . ”

_ I can’t be entitled. Illumi was right. The only thing he was ever right about. _

Killua doesn’t complete his thought. He lapses back into silence and stares at the screen.

“Hey,” Gon says. He shifts upright suddenly and Killua lets go of his arm begrudgingly. Somehow along the way they had unknowingly changed positions so that Killua had been the one clinging onto Gon’s arm. He turns his face to look at Killua dead straight.

“If Illumi comes around again I’ll kick his ass,” Gon tells him. “Or  _ you’ll _ kick his ass and I’ll film it. You have to teach me again how to record a video but that’s beside the point.”

He presses a finger against Killua’s chest and the point of contact burns. “You’ll just have to get used to being happy.”

“I . . . ”

“Okay, Killua?”

Killua mouths more words but no sound comes out. His throat is tightening like a vise, and there’s definitely a pressure behind his eyelids, but  _ hell _ if he cries. He hasn’t cried since the day he walked out of the gates of the Zoldyck mansion when he was eighteen and he won’t start now. It doesn’t matter that Gon is looking at him all sweet and kind, and he’s so good and Killua doesn’t know why of all places Gon could’ve appeared, it had been at Killua’s.

Oh, fuck. That’s a tear. And there’s another, sliding down his cheek. He turns his face away.

Gon’s warm hand touches his chin and guides it back. He says nothing as he brushes the tears away. His fingers are calloused and rough. Killua is delirious.

They stay like that, frozen, for a minute. 

“Okay?” Gon finally says. His face is close enough for Killua to see the delicate veins at his temples, the light freckles on his nose and cheeks. Alive. Solid. Gon is real, and with him right now.

Is this the harsh reality he’s been waiting for? He doesn’t know.

“Okay,” he manages out. Saying anything more would require a certain number of brain cells he currently lacks. He just knows that if possible, he would like to stay like this for a long time. Reality can come kick him in the ass later.

“Okay,” Gon repeats. “You wanna go to sleep? It’s pretty late.”

The thought of his bedroom, so far away and unwarmed by body heat, makes him shudder. “I’ll just stay on the couch,” he mumbles. “I’m too tired to move.”

He quickly catches himself. “I mean ― you can take my bed, if you want.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” Gon says. “Maybe I’ll just stay here too. If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not.” Killua stretches himself out on the couch, careful not to touch Gon. The sofa is just about big enough to fit one person sitting and the other curled up. Gon grabs a pillow and blanket and dumps it on him.

“Goodnight,” Gon says. Killua can’t see him at this angle. He could be invisible for all he knows.

“Goodnight,” he says.

Sleep takes her sweet time getting to him. Eventually the soft cadence of Gon’s breathing and the darkness of the room summons her and she overtakes him one sense at a time. First his vision goes, then smell, taste, hearing, and finally touch, so that the last thing he knows is the softness of the blanket.

Immediately he is thrust into a warzone. His ears are ringing and his left ear is numb. He reaches up to brush it and his fingers come away stained red. He stares at it, trying to make it make sense.

“Gon!”

Kite appears in front of him, crouching low. His blue cap hangs low over his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Is Morel ― ”

“He got out.”

“And Knov?”

“He’s been hit. We stopped the bleeding but we won’t be able to move him until we secure this place.”

Killua shifts the gun strapped to his back over his shoulder. The cold metal bites his skin. Kite reloads bullets into the magazine like he’s shuffling cards. They’re out on the road, sheltered against a barricade made of sandbags and crates. The breeze kicks up the dust off the ground, filling his nose. It doesn’t smell of the sea anymore. All he sees is dirt and blood and Kite, Kite in front of him, cold and calm and strong.

He takes a deep breath. It’s no time to be panicking. It’s what he’s trained for, isn’t it? He’s here to protect his hometown. Aunt Mito is at the medic’s tent and if the soldiers get past this blockpoint they will surely overrun the next, and the next, and then nothing stands between them and her.

He will  _ not _ let them hurt her. Never.

The yellow sky is eerily silent. It’s either early morning or late afternoon ― the clouds block up the sunlight and give everything a grey haze. It’s hot, but not the kind of hot that sticks. Instead it parches his throat.

He focuses on reloading his gun. The smooth metal barrel is slick with sweat in his hands, stinging against his callouses. He thumbs the ridges and flicks the safety on and off, on and off. He stopped asking for permission a long time ago.

“Good to go?” Kite asks.

“Yeah. There’s a sniper on the rooftop at 11 o’clock. Shall I take him?”

“No. I’m better at aiming high. Take care of the fellow peeking out from that far wall.”

“Got it.”

Kite nods. The sweat on his nose shines bright. Killua stares at it. His mind is whirring at a million paces an hour ― worry about Mito, anger at the destruction, the awful, awful fear of the enemy ― and privately, excitement at the prospect of danger, and shame at his own excitement ― all of his thoughts jumble together. Who are they fighting against? Why is there a war happening? Killua doesn’t know, and he’s scared of how fast life is rushing by.

“On my count.”

Killua nods. He doesn’t even know if these emotions are his or Gon’s. He has never felt so alive in his life.

“Go.”

Killua ducks out to the side and sets his eye to the scope. He catches a flash of cloth ― his target is trying to take him out, too, but he’s too far out, his body is too exposed. Killua lets off a few warning shots. Bullets bury themselves in concrete.

Liquid drips from his left ear. He swears under his breath.

“Shoot like you mean it,” Kite hisses. “It’s him or you.”

It’s not his fault the target is so small and slim. Really a child. Maybe even younger than Gon is, and he’s already one of the youngest resistance fighters in this town. Who let this child out onto the battlefield? But Killua steadies his hand and tries again.

This time, when he leans out from behind the barricade, people start shooting at him. He hears the whistle as bullets pass by and splatter against the dusty ground. Killua grits his teeth and holds his ground, finger against the trigger. He just needs to hit that one boy. Then Kite will take out the sniper, then they’ll be able to advance, regroup, and get Knov out.

Get back home.

It’s them or Killua. He can do it.

Suddenly, he hears a cry from next to him. He turns in time to see Kite jerk backwards. His gun drops to the ground with a clatter, and he’s clutching his right arm.

Killua leaps forward.

Kite’s arm ― it’s bright red.

Bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killua is anxious because in canon he gets murder as a coping mechanism. here, not so much.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for ptsd-induced panic attack

“Killua, wake up!”

Killua bolts upright. The world swings into orientation with full force. He’s on his couch, blankets tangled around him, sweaty and rumpled.

Gon sits next to him, his hands hovering over Killua’s shoulders. “Are you okay?” 

Killua’s gaze darts around the room. Light streams in through the open window and all is quiet. No gunfire. No fighting. He cups his ears tenderly, but there’s no pain, no ringing in his canals. 

“Killua?”

Nausea overtakes him. He doubles over and holds his throat. It’s just a dream. It’s not real. It didn’t happen to him. But it’s a memory, which means it happened to Gon. Killua groans quietly.

“I know,” Gon says. “I saw. There’s no need to explain.”

Killua slowly lowers his hands from his eyes. “What do you mean, you  _ saw _ ?”

Gon hesitates. “I happened to see your dreams.”

“What? How?”

“I saw it ― my memories. I saw Kite.”

“Do you think he ― ?”

“I don’t think so. It was just his arm.”

“Still alive, then.”

“No. Probably. I don’t know.”

They fall silent. The gravity of the situation is so at odds with the tranquility of the morning that Killua feels as though he’s still stuck in the dream world.

“I’m sorry,” Gon says.

Killua looks at Gon, who is perched all the way to the side of the bed. His hands are clasped together in his lap. Killua doesn’t know if it’s just his imagination, but Gon even seems to be leaning slightly away from him.

“Wha-what for?”

Gon looks him in the eye.

“For making you live through that.”

Killua shuts his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“It’s ― ”

“Why were you able to see my dreams?” Killua interrupts. Something must have changed, some variable that they need to account for. There’s no point thinking of the past, which is, after all, unchangeable. They need to focus on the future. Anything to stop thinking of Kite’s bloody, mangled arm. He doesn’t like the look on Gon’s face.

Gon takes some time to respond. “I’m not sure,” he says.

“Did something change?”

“I . . . don’t . . . ”

“Did  _ you _ do anything different?”

“I ― um. I happened to be touching your hair.” Gon winces. “I think maybe that’s why.”

“That would explain it,” Killua muses. “Physical touch can trigger the ― memory conduit, I guess. It makes sense. You were touching my hair?”

“It looked so fluffy,” Gon says. “I was stroking it, like.” He lifts his hand and gives him a redundant demonstration. Killua smacks his hand, trying not to smile. Ridiculous. Looking at Gon’s face now, so open and honest, makes the dream feel ridiculous. It’s hard to think of war and death when he can look at Gon instead.

“Idiot,” he says.

“I’m sorry, Killua,” Gon says. “You shouldn’t have to endure my memories like that.”

“It’s okay.” The sooner he forgets, the better. He shakes off cobwebs. “It helps you remember who you are.” He almost says  _ were _ .

Gon doesn’t look convinced, but he follows Killua up from the couch. Killua washes his face, changes, brushes his teeth, then heads to the kitchen. The clock reads 10:00am. It’s the weekend, which means he has nothing to do and nowhere to go. 

Killua cracks three eggs in a bowl and starts whisking. As if he can read his mind, Gon places two slices of bread in the toaster and sets it on medium high. For some reason, he’s thinking about his hair right now. Did he wash it yesterday? He can’t remember. He hopes he did.

As Killua is oiling the pan, Gon speaks up again.

“I ― I’m really sorry, Killua.”

“Pssh,” he says. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can find out what happened to you.” He points the end of the spatula at Gon. “I’m fine.”

“But ― “

“Gon. Come on. It’s just a memory.”

Guilt drags at Gon’s face. Guilt, and maybe something else. Killua peers closely at him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Gon blinks. “Um. Yeah, why?”

“Oh. Um. No reason.” He takes the bowl from Gon and pours the eggs into the pan. It spits and sizzles as it hits the hot pan. He adjusts the heat, adding salt and pepper. Gon leans against the counter with arms folded and watches him. Killua keeps his eyes on the eggs as they cook.

“So, uh,” he starts. The eggs turn milkier in color and start to bubble. “About the dreams.”

“Yes?”

“It’s a lot faster than explaining everything verbally once I wake up, I guess.” Killua concentrates very hard on pushing his spatula cleanly through the eggs. He has to make sure the edges don’t burn. He hates over-fried eggs.

“Huh?” Gon says.

“B-But it’s not like I don’t mind describing it! Maybe it’s faster, and more efficient, is all I’m saying.”

Is the heat up too high? The eggs are scrambling  _ fast _ . The sizzle sounds delicious.

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Only if you don’t mind, though. I don’t mind. I mean, after all ― ” Killua blinks as Gon reaches over and turns off the heat. He scoops up the pan and slides the eggs neatly onto a plate.

“Hey, those eggs ― “

“They’re done, Killua,” Gon says. “Now can you please explain what you were saying? I didn’t get it at all.”

Killua turns around to face him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I just meant. Like. Would it be better if you just . . . pat my―pat my hair, maybe, when I dream. While I’m sleeping. To save time.”

“Oh.” Gon relaxes and breaks out into a grin. “Why’d you have to be so confusing? Yeah, sure, let’s do that. You don’t mind me patting your hair? I promise I didn’t mean to be creepy about it,” Gon adds hurriedly.

“No, I don’t ― I don’t mind.” Killua flushes to the roots of said hair in question. “It’s fine.”

“Cool!” Gon scratches the back of his head. “Thanks. It does make things faster.”

“Exactly.” Killua breathes a sigh of relief. He grabs the plates and motions for Gon to get out of the way. “Get the toast.”

“Okay.”

They sit down to eat a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast. Instant latte for Killua, water for Gon. Once or twice their eyes meet across the table and Killua feels very silly. The blood rushes to his face and the room feels like a sauna.

He checks his phone. There’s a text from Alluka.

_ HELP why are college applications so hard >_< _

He smiles. Gon notices and asks what he’s looking at.

“It’s Alluka,” he says.

“Oh, right. She’s moving in soon, isn’t she?”

“Uh . . . yeah.” Kind of.

A text from Leorio saves him.

_ Hey. There’s a party going down this weekend. Me and Pika and Zepile are going. You in? _

It’s accompanied by an unflattering photo of Kurapika with bedhead. Killua doesn’t even want to think about the implications of that. He and Gon have an excuse, because they live together, but Leorio and Kurapika? Not that anyone with working eyesight couldn’t see it coming from miles away, but still, gross. They’re insufferable together.

He snaps a quick photo of Gon munching on his toast and sends it back. Then he remembers that no one knows about his situation with Gon. Which means that everytime he sends them a photo of the two of them in the morning ― it means ― 

“Why are you turning red, Killua?” Gon says. “Are you choking?”

“No. Shut up,” he says. He shelves the epiphany at the back of his mind and locks it away in a safe. Throws the key away for good measure. “Do you want to go to a party this weekend?”

“Sounds fun.”

He types back.

_ Tell Sleeping Beauty he could probably do with a few more hours. And we’re in. Who’s DD. _

A few seconds later his phone pings. It’s from Kurapika.

_ Bitch. You want what I have. _

It’s the night of the party, and Killua is going to  _ snap _ if Gon pesters him one more time.

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” Gon says. He picks at his blouse, which is white and flowy and open at the neck. It brings out his tanned skin beautifully. Getting him to wear skinny jeans had been the biggest hassle.

“Trust me,” Killua insists. “It’s the fashion.”

“They’re so tight,” Gon says. “Aunt Mito would have a fit if she saw me wearing these.”

“She would have a fit if I let you go to a party wearing my t-shirt and basketball shorts. I swear to God, if you ask me  _ one more time _ .”

“Fine,” Gon says. So he dutifully keeps his silence as Killua changes into the brightest trousers he owns and pairs it with a matching sweater. They stand at the entrance as Killua checks his phone and keys and wallet. Gon presses his hair back from his forehead, although it springs back in soft tufts as soon as he releases his hand. It’s cute. Lately he thinks everything about Gon is cute.

“Okay, let’s go,” Killua says. Gon nods and smiles at him. 

They meet up with Leorio, Kurapika, and Zepile, and squish into Kurapika’s beat-up sedan to get to their destination. Killua doesn’t know Zepile that well, but he’s friends with Leorio and thus trustworthy. Kurapika is wearing his edgiest black outfit and Killua can only describe Leorio’s clothes as  _ thot _ . Gon looks faintly scandalized, but he doesn’t say anything.

When they reach the house, the party’s already going strong. Music pumps through the ground and rattles the windows. It’s some popular hip-hop song, and the bass threatens to make their hearts jump out of their bones. Several people mill around on the lawn in various stages of inebriation.

Killua pulls Gon out of the way as a stranger streaks past them.

“Hey, Zepile!” Someone else shouts, and Zepile excuses himself and melts away to greet them.

They reach the entrance of the house. Faint cheers are heard from inside. “I’m going to get drinks,” Leorio yells over the music. “Come with me if you want.”

They get to the kitchen, where bottles upon bottles line the counter like a liquor store. Jesus, is that person doing a keg stand in their underwear? Bodies weave in and out of his way, warm and sweating. Killua squints in the low light.

Gon sticks to his side. His eyes are wide and take in their surroundings. He stumbles back as a drunk girl falls over him, her sparkly sequin top is in danger of falling loose.

“Oh, sorry!” she trills. Gon helps her up with his eyes politely averted.

“C’mere, Gon,” Killua says. He hands him a cup of vodka and juice. “Pineapple.”

“Thanks.”

After that, the party is a blur. As it should be. He’s aware of the beat of the music, the sweet fire of vodka running through his veins, the shadowy forms of others writhing and moving like demons in the night. At one point they reach the dance floor, although it’s just to pull Leorio away from a one-sided argument gone wrong. While they’re there, someone sidles up to Gon and gives him a once-over.

“You go here?” they yell.

Gon shakes his head and smiles back, pointing at Killua. For some reason that gesture takes on a different meaning under the strobing lights, so Killua tugs Gon away to get away from the rush and heat of the dance floor.

They find Kurapika sitting on the stairs nursing a potent-smelling cup. He glares at them when Killua tries to talk, so they give up and leave him be. 

Time passes. One hour, two hours. But throughout the night he and Gon are joined at the hip as they navigate the house and its partygoers. They run into Zushi and Killua introduces them.

“Oh! You’re Gon! Killua talks a lot about you!” Zushi yells. Killua suspects he’s had more than his fair share of beer.

“He does?” Gon turns to him and  _ winks _ , which is so ridiculous that Killua socks him in the shoulder and laughs. Zushi disappears, so then they join a quick drinking game going on in someone’s garage. They get out once it gets personal. He feels as though they are speedrunning through an RPG game where they talk to the NPCs milling around and then leave. It’s not a bad party, but he’s never been the one to go to such functions anyway. But with Gon, at least, it’s tolerable and even fun. 

Around 1am the crowd spills out into the lawn where they wait for the fireworks display to go off. Killua has no idea why there’s going to be fireworks at this party, but he doesn’t question it. Vaguely he wonders if they’re even legal.

“Never seen fireworks before,” Gon confesses. They sit on the damp grass with drinks in hand. People are scattered around, minding their own business. The music is more mellow now.

“Hey guys,” Leorio says, appearing behind them. He looks like a wreck, but still a functioning wreck. “Where’s Kurapika?”

Killua shrugs. “Dunno. He was in a bad mood last we saw him.”

“By the stairs near the bathroom,” Gon adds. “Are you gonna go look for him?”

Leorio frowns. “Man. Don’t want him to bite my head off. Ah, shit, but he’ll sulk if I don’t. All right, catch you guys.”

“Don’t miss the fireworks,” Killua calls after him.

“Yeah.”

Leorio leaves. Gon turns around and puts a fistful of wet grass in Killua’s lap.

“You little ― ” Killua dumps some back, dirt clots included, on Gon’s hair.

“Hey!”

“You deserved that,” he smirks.

Gon laughs. “Killua, you know, about the dreams. I wanted ― ”

“Yeah?”

“ ― to ask if it’s really okay. I don’t want to. Hmm. Make you uncomfortable.”

“I  _ told _ you,” Killua tells him, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not?”

“You’re trying to find out your past. I can handle seeing some of your memories.”

Gon glances at him through his eyelashes. “I meant the hair-patting thing.”

“ _ Oh _ . Yeah. That.” Killua picks at the grass, pulling up tuftfulls with spiteful energy. “I really don’t mind. We’re friends, I can handle someone touching my hair while I sleep. Don’t, like ― I don’t wanna wake up to you staring dead straight at my face, though, you feel?”

“Like a sleep paralysis demon.”

“Like that.”

Gon hesitates. “Well,” he says, “does it help if I also sleep at the same time? Would that be weirder or no?”

Killua thinks about it. Gon, sleeping next to him. In his bed. Touching his hair ― but not necessarily his hair. As long as Gon is touching some part of him, it could be anything. It could be hand-holding.  _ Cuddling _ , even.

Suddenly he’s too sober for this bullshit. His heart feels like an open flame, all valves open and pumping blood at full force.

“No,” he says. “I mean, yeah, it’s fine. Go ahead. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

“I’ve never had a sleepover,” Gon says, smiling wide.

“Me neither.”

Killua had only ever shared a bed with Alluka when they were young and one of them had had a nightmare. Mother disdained all other children their age and would never consent to a sleepover. Besides, he didn’t really have friends to invite in the first place. Illumi scared them off.

In the end Gon and Killua are alone on the lawn when the first fireworks pop off. It’s a bottle rocket, one that whistles through the air and explodes in the sky. Bright sparks unfold like petals on a flower, and the sound reaches their ears seconds later.

_ BOOM. _

Another bottle rocket. Missiles stream upwards, exploding and flashing and sparking like it’s a national fucking holiday. Killua tips his head back and lets the flashing lights blind him.

_ BOOM. BOOM. _

_ BOOM. BOOMBOOMBOOM. _

_ BOOM. _

“Not bad,” he yells. People are cheering and whooping. The acrid smell of smoke fills his nostrils seconds later, but it’s nothing compared to the way the sky shatters into a million pieces of light. 

He turns his head to see Gon’s reaction.

His face is distorted ― with anger, or fear, or something else, something monstrous and so unlike Gon ― and his shoulders are bunched up around his ears. His eyes meet Killua’s, and his pupils are blown wide and afraid. 

Killua is stunned by his stupidity. 

Fireworks.

Of course.

He jumps to his feet, pulling Gon up with him. At first he almost goes back into the house. But there are too many people and too many lights and it’s just about the worst place to retreat to. Killua whirls around, his hand gripping Gon’s wrist, and hurries across the lawn. Gon follows without a sound.

They burst onto the sidewalk and keep going, down the street, noises and lights getting fainter the further they go. In fact, he doesn’t know who starts running, but at some point both of them are sprinting as if their lives are on the line.

They keep going until the stitches in his side threaten to open him up whole. Finally, his feet slow, his strides lagging and slowing until Killua comes to a halt. He bends over and gasps in clean air. Gon stands next to him, panting.

The neighborhood is not one Killua recognizes. The streets are silent and hooded in darkness, and the single-story stone houses are spaced far and away. The end of the road curves off sharply to a line of bush. They’re near the beach, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, Gon.” Killua draws in huge breaths and grips his knees. “I didn’t think.”

“It’s so stupid,” Gon says, and his voice is broken and quiet. “I don’t even ― remember it.”

“It’s okay,” he insists. Speaking is painful. Why’s he so winded? Why’s his chest so tight?

“I don’t know,” Gon says. He shakes his head. His hands come up to cup his ear before he abruptly stops and faces away from Killua. There’s a line of tension in his shoulders that makes him as rigid as a statue.

“Hey.” Killua reaches out and grabs Gon’s hand. Gon turns to look at him. He can’t read his face at all, smooth and utterly expressionless. It’s terrifying. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Gon says. “I don’t even know why ― this is stupid.”

“It’s not.”

“I shouldn’t be scared.”

“You can be.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m such a coward,” Gon says. “Kite got shot because of  _ me _ .”

Tears threaten at the back of Killua’s eyelids. “Don’t say that. Please.”

Gon shuts up. Killua stares at him, wondering how he could’ve been so idiotic. The night had started off fine ― he just wanted to relax with his friends, and he wanted Gon to experience a college party and have fun. He wanted to laugh and goof off and do dumb shit, and they  _ had _ , but the alcohol has long since burned off.

Killua regrets everything. How could he not, when Gon looks like  _ that _ .

Fireworks. He should’ve known. Stupid.

He needs to stop being selfish. He needs to start thinking about other people. After all, what’s the point of running away from his stupid fucking family if he’s just going to follow in their footsteps?

He takes a breath.

“Gon,” he starts. “You’re not a coward.”

“Killua,” Gon says, shaking his head. “Forget what I said. I’m okay. I’ve calmed down.”

Gon looks at him, and smiles. “Sorry to worry you.” His smile is utterly indistinguishable to the ones Gon gives him when he hands him a cup of coffee in the mornings, or when he sees Killua watering the flowers on the balcony at night. Unchanging and kind ― he doesn’t want Killua to worry.

What should he say? Should he call him out on his lie? Force him to accept that Kite’s injury wasn’t his fault?

What comes out of his mouth instead is,

“You’re . . . okay?”

Killua has never failed so hard at being a friend.

“Yeah,” Gon says. “The fireworks kinda spooked me, that’s all.”

“ . . . Sure?”

“Sure.”

“I . . .”

He can’t bring himself to say it.

“Are we near the sea?” Gon asks, sniffing the air. He turns away.

Killua straightens up and looks around. If he concentrates, he can hear the rush of water. “Yeah . . . It’s right there.”

“I wanna go see it. Come on.”

Gon grabs his hand and tugs, still smiling. They start walking, Killua following helplessly.

At the end of the road where the line of bush begins, so too does the concrete end. They hop over the bushes and clear the bramble. Eventually the ground underneath becomes softer and more padded. Then the beach stretches out before them, white sands against black waves. 

Moonlight glints off the ripples. It’s a muted light compared to the light of the fireworks, like pearl to harsh diamond. The waves crash and recede, thundering white and fleshy, following the push-pull of a higher power. There is not a single soul on the beach except them.

Gon walks all the way up to the water’s threshold. He takes off his shoes and socks and dips his feet in the water.

“Cold,” Gon says. Killua does the same and agrees. The sand particles tickle his toes and leave residue on his skin when the water sinks back into the ground. Here the smell of salt is overpowering.

The ocean had been his treasured place as a child. He could look out over it and pretend to be a pirate once more, and when he got older, he pretended to build a raft and sail away. The sea was the one place their parents never went, and so if Killua wanted to go, the butlers accompanied him. They were marginally kinder than his parents, and so they had allowed Alluka to come too. It had been a good day; Alluka, five years old and chubby-cheeked, squealing with delight as Killua pushed her around on the floaties.

“Why’re you smiling?” Gon asks.

“There’s a long weekend coming up,” Killua says. “Four days. I was thinking of having Alluka come over.”

“Cool,” Gon says.

“If that’s okay with you.”

“Killua, it’s your home,” Gon laughs. Killua wishes he could tell him  _ you could make it yours, too _ . He would say it if anxiety and embarrassment weren’t holding him hostage in equal parts. “And she’s your sister.”

“You’ll like her,” Killua says. There’s no doubt about it. Two people, sweeter and softer than any one had a right to be. They’d be best friends in no time.

Gon is quick, but he can’t hide his look of confusion fast enough for Killua not to spot it.

“I’m sure I will,” Gon says.

“What?”

“What?”

“Why’d you look weird for a second?” Killua asks.

Gon stays silent and looks down at his feet. The incoming wave washes over his toes, then recedes.

“I didn’t think you were gonna introduce us,” he finally says. “I mean . . . I’m not permanent.”

_ Don’t say that _ . “You’ve met my friends!”

“But she’s different, ‘cuz she’s gonna live with you. She’s your family. She’s . . . part of your life, permanently.”

Killua stares at him.

Gon makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. I’m not explaining it well.”

“Yeah, you’re making no sense, stupid,” Killua scoffs. The words leave his throat cold.

They fall silent, listening to the crash of waves on the shore.

What did Gon mean? He didn’t want to be a part of Killua’s life, permanently? Well, he couldn’t, because he was a ghost. Was that what he meant? Why . . . did he not even want to  _ try? _

Their conversation reminds him of things he doesn’t want to think about. Namely the fact that Alluka’s graduation is nearing, and they’re making progress in Gon’s memories at a frightening pace. According to Gon, once he finishes the thing he left undone, he’ll be freed from this world and can pass on to the true beyond. He won’t cross over just by remembering who he was. That seems to imply some sort of choice on Gon’s part ― that he can decide what he wants to do once he remembers who he is. So Gon could technically . . . not leave, right? If he chose to?

Killua can’t bring himself to ask.

“Look, Killua. Crabs.”

Gon bends down at points at the sand. Tiny crustaceans wriggle their way out, emerging from silt. Their beady eyes and pale-pink shells remind him of cartoons he’d seen on TV.

“I wonder if you could eat them,” he says.

“ _ Killua _ .”

“What, come on. We eat their bigger cousins.”

“You wouldn’t even have to cook them,” Gon says, betraying his earlier stance. “Just pop them into your mouth and  _ crunch _ .”

“Bet it’s salty.”

“Like chips or popcorn.”

Killua laughs and Gon joins in.

As the half-moon floats in the sky and the stars around her flicker, they walk up and down the beach. The night air is cool and balmy, the wind sharp and sprite-like. Occasionally Killua will say something, and Gon will reply, or the other way around, but for the most part both are lost in their own thoughts. 

He thinks of pirates again for some reason. If he were a pirate, would he miss the shore? Would he be perpetually homesick for safe land? Or would he eventually get used to sailing for days upon end on the ocean blue? 

Killua has no idea what Gon’s thinking about.

Eventually the horizon lightens. It’s close to 4am, and the sky blushes faintly in the east. Sparse white clouds cover the sky, although they leave the moon alone. She hangs low in the sky, surrounded by stars.

Eventually Killua gets tired of thinking. He’d rather focus on the beauty of the sea and Gon standing next to him, breeze in their shirts, salt on their skin. Their shadows, faint enough to be a mere trick of the light, extend behind them and merge together. He can’t ask what he wants to ask, but for now, Gon is real and alive and that’s all he cares about. To ask Gon would be asking too much. Killua won’t be selfish, and he won’t be entitled.

He suddenly remembers what Gon had said to him.  _ You’ll just have to get used to being happy.  _ If he was allowed such a thing.

If this moment in time could stretch out forever, he wouldn’t mind at all.

Eventually the sun breaks out fully in the sky; the moon hides away, and the two of them go home.

When Killua hesitates at the door of his bedroom, unsure how to invite him in, Gon shakes his head.

“I’ll give you a break,” he says. “Have a good sleep.”

And he disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started a new job last week and it's kicking my ass :( comments and reviews would really cheer me up!


	6. Chapter 6

In recent months, Killua’s dreams have been especially harsh. He knew what he was getting into, but each night that he wakes up bathed in sweat, gunfire ringing in his ears and the stench of blood clogging up his nose, is another night that tests the limits of what he is able to bear. Each time he sees dead children covered in flies or a dying comrade holding in his intestines, he thinks he’s reached that limit.

War does something to people. Killua understands violence, having grown up with it, but war is an entirely new scale. He’s seen a mob steal food from a rail-thin mother clutching her baby. He’s seen men, former fishermen and steelsmiths and woodcutters, good men all of them, slowly turn hard and cold. They forgot their wives and children back home and only knew the rush of fighting the next day. The worst is that Gon himself marches past all this, unable to intervene. Each time he’d tried, a one-armed Kite had shaken his head and held him back.

Killua hates it, but he knows that Gon hates it even more.

When he jackknifes up in bed, panting hard, he sees Gon sitting up next to him, woken up at the same time he is. Gon is a solid presence at his side, warm and real, but he never touches Killua when they wake up. His hands are always tucked away.

Every night, they fall asleep like this: Killua on his back, Gon on his side facing him. The pinky finger of his left hand is curled around Gon’s pinky finger, like they’re children making a promise.  _ Cross your heart and hope to die _ . Except for that one point of contact, they don’t touch. The first night they’d tried it had been awkward. The room felt too warm and Killua couldn’t fall asleep for the longest time. His bed was made for one person and both occupants were trying their best to keep some distance. 

The first night, Killua had spent hours batting away unwelcome thoughts like he had been trying to hit a home run.

_ He’s your friend. But he could be more _ . Clang.

_ Does he know your feelings? Does he feel the same?  _ Clang.

_ He’s leaving. This is temporary. This isn’t real. _ Clang.

In the end Killua had fallen into exhausted sleep and was rewarded with another shootout. The toll of wearing armored gear even in sleep and lugging around guns and explosives all day is nothing compared to the numbness he feels as he sees the enemy fall to the ground. He’s tired of the constant hypervigilance. He’s tired of the smell of blood. It reminds him of Illumi. When Killua was a child, Illumi used to watch gory war footage for fun, and later upgraded to catching small animals to experiment with. It never seemed to affect Illumi. Of course, though, Illumi was a psychopath.

One night dream-Killua had been wounded by a bullet grazing his shoulder. When he woke, his right arm tingled, and for the rest of the day it had been stiff and sore. Gon rubbed it and handed him cold compresses with a sour face.

That’s another thing. He can deal with nightmarish ghost-memories and literal phantom pains. But he can’t stand seeing Gon’s guilty face when they wake in the mornings, and the more Gon brings up putting a halt to all of this, the more vehement Killua is in his insistence that  _ I’m fine, I want to do this _ . The more he puts together the puzzle pieces of Gon’s life, the more closure Gon can get. Killua just wants to be helpful.

“Let’s stop,” Gon says one morning. It’s mid-March and cold enough that both of them are swathed in blankets. Killua’s still laying down but Gon sits cross-legged next to him. Killua scowls and throws his arm over his face. 

“I don’t want you to see my memories anymore.”

“Come on, Gon. You’re getting pretty close to your age now. I think we’re really . . . close.”

“No,” Gon says. Killua recognizes the stubborn set to his jaw.

“I’m  _ fine _ .”

“You were whimpering.”

Shit. How embarrassing. “It’s a war, it’s natural to feel fear, and it’s not like I don’t know violence ― ”

Killua clamps his mouth shut as Gon looks at him. He hates the mixed pity and guilt and anger in his friend’s eyes. The room is still too bright and he’s dizzy from the afterimages.

“We’re continuing,” Killua grumbles. “We need to find out what happened to you.”

“Fine, how about I put it like this? I don’t want you poking around in my memories anymore.”

Killua sits up so fast that the entire room sways. “What? Fuck you.”

“They’re  _ mine. _ I don’t want you there.”

“You can’t say that when we’ve already come this far,” Killua snaps. “You need me to dream.”

“No. You won’t dream if I’m not here.”

“Idiot! Aren’t you trying to cross over?”

“So I can get the hell out of your home? Is seeing this shit worth it to you, Killua?”

Killua closes his eyes. His mind is frazzled and he can’t figure out why Gon had said that first part. The sunlight is giving him a migraine like a needle between his brows.

“I just want to get it over with,” Killua says.

Gon is quiet for a second. Not even the birds are chirping outside the window.

Then he says, and his voice is very soft, “Do you want me to leave that badly?”

“What?” Killua cracks open an eye. Gon’s face is blank and he’s looking down at his hands in his lap. “Oh, come on. This is just a stupid argument.” He’s not mad enough to throw Gon out of his room, and Gon should know that.

“That’s not . . . ”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“You’re right.” Gon gives him a brave smile. It’s only slightly off-kilter. “This is stupid. Let’s not argue.”

“ . . . Right.”

The more he dreams, the closer Gon gets to the truth. The closer he gets to the truth, the faster he’ll finish whatever he left undone, and soon enough he’ll be gone forever. To deny him the chance would be selfish. And Killua would never be selfish at the expense of a friend’s happiness, because that would make him no better than Illumi.

It’s an inevitability Killua dreads.

Gon speaks up. His voice is cheerful again. “Let’s go out today. You don’t have work, right?”

“Yeah.” Yesterday he had put the finishing touches on his portfolio in preparation for future job interviews. Alluka was visiting next week and graduating next month, so he needed to make sure he had a job to provide for her.

“Great,” Gon says. “Can we go to the skateboarding park? And let’s get ice-cream. My treat.”

That makes Killua snicker. “Hey, asshole, it’s my money.”

“No, I won some in a bet with Palm last week. I can spare two ice creams, I think.”

“You can buy both for me,” Killua says.

“Sure,” Gon says brightly. “It’s a date.”

The word is fired and lodges itself in Killua’s brain for a long time afterwards. After brushing his teeth and washing his face and completing his morning routine, he even takes the time to dress up nicer than he would for a normal round of skateboarding, with a sweater tucked into white trousers. Gon wears his letterman jacket and black jeans. Technically his clothes are Killua’s, but they had long since separated wardrobes since Killua had enough to spare. 

It’s a windy day. The shutters rattle like jail bars, and they dodge the leaves that whip at their cheeks. The skatepark is filled with people since it’s the weekend, dotted with clusters of teenagers, families on picnic blankets, and couples on dates. Small shops and vendors line the streets surrounding the park with brightly colored displays. Gon tugs Killua away from a crepe stand.

“Later,” he says firmly. “You said you’ll teach me the wall bounce.”

And so they skate and jump around for hours. It’s as unlike a date as any Killua has gone on before. First off, because they fill the air with curse words and shouting. Secondly, because Killua doesn’t hesitate to put Gon in a headlock when the latter pours water down the back of his shirt when he’s not looking. Yet Killua wouldn’t have it any other way. Date or not, he just wants a normal time hanging out with Gon. After a while the cool breeze blows away all remnants of their earlier argument.

It’s not a date, because that would be weird and awkward. But if Killua holds out a hand to steady Gon more than once and if he catches Gon when he tumbles over and crashes into his chest multiple times, he’s not complaining.

After they tire of skateboarding, Gon buys the promised ice-cream and they sit and watch others from a park bench.

“Watch that guy,” Killua says. “His tricks are really good.”

“I could do that,” Gon says. “I would fall and crack my head, but I could still do that.”

Killua snorts. “Yeah, sure, Tony Hawk.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s a pro skater and stuntman,” Killua says.

“Oh,” Gon says. There's a pause while he bites into his ice cream. Killua leans back and absent-mindedly knocks his knees against Gon's. After a while, he pipes up again. “Why don’t you skate more, Killua? You’re really good.”

Killua flushes. “I’m not. But. I don’t know, it seems kinda . . . childish.”

Gon turns around, looking offended on his behalf. “Aw, come on.”

“I don’t have the time to be skating around,” he says. “I’m twenty-two, I should be looking at real adult shit and settling into a job ― ”

“And filing taxes for fun?” Gon grins cheekily at him.

He bites back the urge to go off on a rant about modern job anxiety and the capitalist work-life imbalance. “I need to provide for Alluka,” he says.

“Mmm.” Gon, however, is distracted by a woman shouting nearby. “Is she . . . oh, that’s her boyfriend.”

Killua licks his chocolate ice-cream. It’s extremely sweet, just the way he likes it. He makes sure to angle the cone expertly so that it doesn’t drip. Gon, on the other hand, has his leaking onto his fingers, his attention taken up by the couple a few feet away from them.

“I think they’re having a fight,” Gon says. Killua follows the direction of his gaze and sees them, a man and a woman, standing too close to be anything but lovers. But their body language is stiff and their faces clouded. The wind scatters their words, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that it’s not words of affection they’re speaking. Killua wonders what they’re arguing about.

“Have you been on a date before?” Killua says.

“No idea,” Gon says. “Those dreams are selective. Maybe I have and it just didn’t show up.”

Killua snorts. “Oh yeah, sure. I bet you haven’t.”

“Well, I was a child soldier, okay?” Gon laughs. “Probably not much time for dating.”

“No childhood sweetheart?”

“Again, I have amnesia. What about you?” Gon flushes.

“I’ve gone on dates before,” Killua says. They hadn’t gone anywhere. In high school he had been forbidden to date, so sneaking around with a classmate or two had been more an act of rebellion rather than any real desire to start a relationship. College had been hookups, nothing more. He didn’t have the time and energy to waste on something as high-risk as a relationship.

“What’s it like?”

“Hmm. I don’t know, it depends,” Killua says. He watches Gon’s feet swing back and forth. “Movies and dinner, that kind of stuff. Valentine's chocolates.”

“Kissing?”

“That too,” Killua confirms.

Gon sighs. “Wow. I’m jealous.” For one mortifying second Killua misunderstands him and blushes so hard he can see stars in his vision, but in the next second the true meaning is apparent. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. Or at least I don’t remember it.”

“OH ― it’s nothing special. It’s like ― “ Killua refuses to be embarrassed. “It’s a lot messier and more awkward than you’d think.”

“Still,” Gon says, looking off into the distance. “I wish I had a chance to.”

Killua doesn’t know what to reply. He’s projecting, and he needs to keep his imagination in check. “Yeah,” he finally says, and it’s a paltry response but he can’t find anything else to say.

They watch as the other couple, apparently having resolved whatever issue they were having, walks off arm in arm.

To say that Killua is anxious about Alluka visiting is an understatement. For the entire week he vibrates with unspoken tension, tapping his feet and twirling small objects in his hands. He cleans the apartment top-to-bottom, enlisting Gon’s help even if the other doesn’t exactly understand the source of his nervous energy. He’s not sure how to explain, either. The day before she arrives, the sink sparkles, the toilet smells of disinfectant and there’s not a spot of dust anywhere in the house.

“Relax, Killua,” Gon tells him after he stocks the fridge with all of Alluka’s favorite foods. “It’s just your sister.”

He’s got chocolate chip cookies, palmiers, an extra large bag of granola, six loaves of banana bread, and a box of premium Belgian chocolates. Yes, she’s only staying long enough to check out the apartment. But she might be hungry! She can take the leftovers home, too.

“What are you talking about,” Killua says. He attempts to lean casually against the door of the pantry to get it to fit shut.

“You’re clearly panicking about Alluka’s visit. Why?”

“Pssh. Whaaat?” He chuckles.

Gon gives him a deadpan stare. Killua relents.

“I haven’t seen her in a long time,” he says. “Not since her birthday last year. So I just hope she has a good time, that’s all.”

“Even if she doesn’t, she’s still coming to live here with you,” Gon points out, which is absolutely correct but also not what Killua needs to hear. He needs to know that his baby sister, who is almost four years younger than him, has the best reception possible.

“It’s complicated,” Killua tells him.

It’s really not. The truth of the matter is: he had abandoned her. Growing up, they didn’t see each other often. In fact, it was only after she came out that they became closer. Predictably, Killua had been the only one in the family who accepted her (except possibly Kalluto, whom he didn’t see often). Yet Killua had booked it out of the home as soon as he turned eighteen, and never once went back home. He visited Alluka privately when he could get away from college and work, but since she was kept at home most of the time, their meetings lessened in frequency.

He had let her down when she needed him the most, and it was too late to ever recapture her chance at a happy and safe childhood.

And that wasn’t even touching on the topic of Nanika.

He takes a deep breath. “There’s something you should know about her,” he says.

“What?”

“So . . . I . . . may or may not have another sister. One who is with Alluka at all times.”

“Huh?”

“Her name is Nanika. She’s a ghost.”

“Oh, wow ― the  _ fuck _ ?”

Killua blinks. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Gon swear. “Yeah.”

“And you never told me?”

“She likes to keep it private. Nanika scares a lot of people.”

“Well, yeah. But  _ me _ ?” Gon waves his hands in the air. “So you know  _ two _ ghosts!”

“Yep,” Killua agrees.

“Hold on, why did you freak out so much when you first met me then?”

“I did not _freak_ _out_ ,” Killua huffs. “I was understandably surprised and annoyed that my apartment was haunted.”

“No, you were definitely spooked.”

“Yeah. Well.” He decides that honesty may be the best policy. “I never said Nanika didn’t scare me, too.”

“Oh.” Gon falls silent.

Killua feels the yawning chasm of guilt open up inside him again. How to tell him  _ Yeah, so it wasn’t until I met you that I suddenly became okay with the idea of ghosts? _ Gon would think him a hypocrite and a coward and rightly so. He probably already thinks so.

“Nanika’s attached to my sister ― a person, not a location, interestingly. Our family kinda blames her for all their problems, so Alluka’s a bit protective of her,” Killua says.

“Good that they have each other then,” Gon says. “So?”

“So what?”

“Is that why you’re nervous about Alluka coming? Because of Nanika?”

He takes some time before responding. Killua takes the dishes drying on the rack and wipes them off with a towel. He passes them to Gon, who arranges them in the dish cabinet. The repetitive act of drying the plates one by one soothes him, gives order to the raging slurry of emotions in his mind.

Finally he says, “Not exactly.”

Gon crosses his arms and waits for an explanation, so Killua struggles to put his thoughts into words.

“I used to be jumpier around Nanika. But after meeting you, I got used to ghosts. So I don’t think that’s it. I mean . . . I don’t think that’s all.”

Illumi whispers in his ear  _ You are selfish _ . Alluka’s text message reads  _ I can’t wait to see you _ . His mother says  _ I’m proud of you, Killua.  _ Who to believe? Who to trust?

Gon’s looking at him with a patience he doesn’t deserve.

Killua sets down the towel. He scratches his head and looks away, leaning against the counter. When he speaks, his voice is almost inaudible.

“I just . . . don’t want to let her down,” Killua says. “I wanna be a good brother to her.”

Gon doesn’t tell him  _ you are _ or even  _ you will be _ . He merely unfolds his arms and comes closer, closing the distance between them. Killua sucks in a breath as his arms come around his waist and their chests press together. Gon is hugging him.  _ Hugging  _ him.

“You’re so dumb, Killua,” Gon says in his ear. “How could anyone not love you?”

“That’s not what I said,” Killua whispers back. His own arms come up to rest lightly on Gon’s back. He’s warm and Killua can’t remember the last time he’d been hugged properly.

“I know.”

Who to believe? Who to trust?

As soon as Killua opens the door, he is greeted with a dark flurry of movement. A shadowy figure of a girl leaps into his arms.

“Hey, Nanika,” he says, stroking her silky black hair. It dissolves when his hand comes into contact with it, and reappears a few seconds after. “I missed you.”

“Killua!” Her voice is watery. He squeezes her back with all his might.

“No fair, Nanika,” Alluka says, laughing. She pops up behind Nanika in the doorway, dressed in a simple pink dress. “You’re hogging.”

“Come here,” he says, and folds her into their hug. He pulls back after a second to check: she’s definitely grown taller. If he’s not careful she might overtake him by the time she reaches his age. Her sparkling blue eyes match the bow in her hair. It’s shaped like a butterfly, and he’d given it to her last year for her birthday.

“We missed you, Brother,” Alluka says. He ruffles her hair.

“And you’re Gon,” she adds, catching sight of him in the living room. He lets her go so that she can walk over and offer him a handshake. “I’m Alluka, nice to meet you. This is Nanika. Brother told me you know about her, too.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gon says, smiling. “I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

“Good things?”

“Only the best,” he assures her.

“Wow,” Alluka says, eyes roving around the room. “It’s a lot spacier than I thought! I like the minimalism.”

“That’s just Killua being lazy,” Gon says, and Killua socks him in the arm. She laughs, and so does Nanika. The ghost girl floats a few inches off the ground, curling around Alluka’s shoulders. Unlike Gon, she is more ethereal, and invisible to others unless she allows herself to be seen. Unlike Gon, too, her skin is the color of ivory and her eyes are black pits. Right now they’re pointed straight at Gon. Killua bites his lip to hide a smile.

“Weird,” she says. “Gon is weird.” Her head cocks to the side.

“Nanika,” Alluka admonishes. “That’s rude. I’m sorry.”

“No worries.” Gon spreads his hands. “I thought she might notice. We’re two of a kind.”

“What do you mean?”

Gon looks at Killua. He nods.

“Well, here’s the thing . . . ” He begins explaining their circumstances.

Killua lets Gon tell the story, occasionally chiming in with corrections. He keeps half an eye on Alluka’s flabbergasted reactions and the other on Gon’s face. At the best of times it’s hard to figure out what exactly he’s thinking, because Gon’s default pleasantness is too ingrained into his personality. Right now he’s gesturing excitedly and there’s no indication of any anxiety or unease, but Killua would bet his last dime on there being something left unsaid. He still remembered Gon’s initial reaction about meeting Alluka. What had he said?  _ She’s part of your life, permanently. _

After Gon finishes recounting the (wildly inaccurate) story, Killua leads Alluka around the apartment. She comments on how clean it is, eats a few snacks at Killua’s insistence, and dials up her enthusiasm tenfold once she gets to her bedroom. She gushes about wallpapers, furniture, and decorations, the huge grin never leaving her face. Killua watches her with something tender blooming in his chest.

Gon nudges him. “You’re so dopey,” he says, laughing. Killua looks into his warm brown eyes and resists the urge to hug him again.

“Shut up,” he says.

Alluka runs to the window and looks out into the street. “Wow, you can see the bay from here! Look, Nanika.”

“Wow,” Nanika says. Her croaky voice is full of wonder. She sidles up to the windowsill like a cat. “Want to move here. Now.”

“Me too,” Alluka says. “Just one more month.”

“How’s Mom and Dad?”

“Mad, but you know how it is. Mom tried to give me the whole ghost spiel again, but she put it in the group chat instead of saying it to my face.”

“You should leave it,” Killua tells her. “It did wonders for my mental health.”

Alluka shrugs. “I think it’s funny sometimes. Grandpa yelled at Milluki for hogging the wifi yesterday. And besides, it’s better to know what they’re up to, especially Illumi, you know?”

“That’s true.”

Killua shows her the bathrooms and kitchen and promises to take her to the shops and restaurants nearby if there’s time. He notices that she touches the walls of whatever room she’s in, as if to convince herself of its actuality. He remembers doing the same on his first house tour.

Behind them, Gon chats with Nanika. Their conversation sounds lively, and Nanika clearly already trusts him. Killua reckons it’s Aunt Mito’s influence, but Gon has perfect manners for someone who’d spent most of his teenage and young adult life in a warzone. If his life hadn’t been what it was, Killua is sure Gon would’ve been the most sought-after young man in his village.

Time slips away fast, and soon it’s time for them to leave. Alluka stops in front of her bedroom on their way out.

“So has Gon been sleeping in here then?” she asks.

“No, he stays with me,” Killua says. “B-Because of the dreams. He explained.”

“Right, holding pinkies,” Alluka laughs. “Y’all are sweet.”

The comment stays in his head while he packs snacks and other little gifts into the backpack she’d brought along. She protests, laughing, but when they separate at the door, she hugs him tightly, longer than their first hug upon her arrival. She tells Gon to  _ take care of Brother for me _ , and promises to let him know if anything happens at home. Then she’s gone, waving her hand while Killua waves back from the top of the stairwell. He thinks Nanika cries a little.

“I like her,” Gon pipes up immediately after she’s gone. “She’s a good kid.”

“Right?” Killua swells with pride. “She likes you too.”

The smile vanishes off his face. “That’s good.”

“What’s wrong?” Killua says.

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” Gon says. “Can we make spaghetti for dinner?”

“Okay,” Killua says.

They go to the kitchen. As Gon is reaching for the pasta, Killua remarks, “Feels like you wanted to say something. Spit it out.”

Gon rolls his eyes in an uncharacteristic display of chagrin. “There’s nothing to spit out.” He turns around and marches to the sink to fill up the pot with water.

Now, Killua’s not dumb. He can guess vaguely at what the problem might be. 

On the one hand, Gon is leaving once he completes his mission on Earth. He might want to cut his losses before he does so, to spare himself the pain. On the other hand, maybe Gon was tired of staying here and he wanted to cross over, to be with Aunt Mito and Kite and everyone he loved. Maybe he didn’t want to get to know new people. It could even be that he wants to spare Killua, and now Alluka too, the pain of missing him.

Either way, if Killua asked about it, it meant that they would both have to acknowledge the inevitability of their parting. It assumes that Gon would definitely choose to resolve whatever tethered him to this mortal plane and leave him once he found out the truth. 

There was a final thought, the slimmest possibility that Killua didn’t allow himself to entertain. That maybe Gon  _ liked _ being here, and that he wouldn’t want to leave after he found out the truth. He’d forget about his mission and stay in this apartment with Killua. Forever.

Even so, the point was that Killua didn’t  _ know _ . And once the question was out in the open, Gon would answer. He would choose.

And so, fearing that if he were to speak, he would lose someone dear to him, Killua kept his silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i blantantly plagarize a line from the manga at the very end YES do i regret it NO  
> i love misunderstandings in fic. i wrote this chapter while listening to killua's theme on repeat. if ya know, you know
> 
> thank y'all so much for the wonderful comments last time! as always, kudos and reviews are much appreciated <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pain. lots of softness and lots of pain. this chapter was hard to write
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!

On a chilly February morning, Killua wakes up with Kite’s name on his lips. Things had taken a turn for the worse. A bloody battle, and Kite had been captured by the Chimera faction. It was anybody’s guess whether he was dead or alive. Images cycle through his mind like a kaleidoscope, each more horrifying than the last.

Killua dives back under the covers, shuddering, his heart pounding through his chest like it’s trying to escape. The bed shifts under his weight. Too late he realizes that the movement has alerted Gon. Killua peeks up from his blanket and sees Gon peering down at him. The early morning light bleaches his hair and features, making him look older and wearier than ever.

“Killua,” he says, his voice quiet and devoid of inflection. He’s learned that Killua hates it when he’s guilty about the toll that the dreams take on him. Gon leans on his elbow as he looks into Killua’s face.

“What,” he says. Gon’s close enough that he can see the tiny freckles on his face and the curl of his eyelashes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says. So what if his voice is watery. Kite’s terrified eyes burn in his memory. He tries to concentrate instead on the warmth of their bodies through the sheets.

“I think we should stop.”

The breath catches in his throat. “Don’t you . . . don’t you want to find out what happened?”

“Not if it’s like this,” Gon says. “Not if it hurts you.”

Killua feels stupid for hoping. “Oh, shut up,” he says. “You’re also seeing through my dreams, remember? It’s not just me going through it.”

“It’s okay if it’s me, but not you. You aren’t allowed to ― ”

That does it. Killua hikes himself up on his elbow. “I’m not  _ allowed _ to? Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” Anger bubbles in his stomach and in the moment he swears he hates Gon for how little he knows. How Gon can unknowingly cut him to the core with the simplest words and dashed expectations.

“Stop being so god-damned selfish,” Killua spits.

“Killua,” Gon says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You ― ”

Gon interrupts him by reaching out, and before Killua can grasp what he’s doing, Gon hugs him in a crushing embrace. Killua struggles at first, but he holds fast.

“I’m sorry, Killua,” Gon says, and his voice sounds close to tears. “I’m sorry I’m selfish.”

At that, all the fight leaves him. One limb at a time, the tension leaches from his muscles. As he relaxes, Gon pulls him in even closer, his arms strong but shaking. Killua tucks himself into the hug, face pushed against the crook of Gon’s neck. His arms wrap around his waist. Killua breathes in the smell of salt and lemon.

“I’m sorry,” Gon repeats. He’s definitely crying even if Killua can’t see his face. “No matter what I do, I hurt you.”

He waits until Gon stops shaking.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says.  _ It’s not your fault I love you. _

After that hug, something changes. Gon is a naturally tactile person, and so is Killua once he’s comfortable, but now they can’t seem to keep off each other. Whenever they stand next to each other, one of them will inevitably lean against the other. Not obtrusively, not necessarily an arm around the waist or around the shoulder. Just a gentle pressure as if anchored to the weight of the other’s presence.

Leorio makes fun of it once. “Y’all are joined at the literal hip,” he says. “You got separation anxiety or something?” He throws his head back and laughs. Leorio is not intentionally cruel.

The touching continues at night. At first they slept as they usually did, with pinkies twisted around each other. Then one night Gon had slid his hand into Killua’s, and Killua had let him. The next night they fell asleep with clasped hands as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Next it was Gon’s arm wrapped around Killua’s chest, and the answering tug from Killua.

Finally, after weeks, it became instinctive to cuddle, to curl up in the curve of his body and make his home there. Killua doesn’t know why he had ever shied away from touch in the first place. It’s wonderful in a way he can’t describe, to be so close to someone, to go to sleep knowing that Gon was there and would be there in the morning when he woke. Dreams aren’t as frightening when he has comfort in the form of Gon’s steady breaths and stolid warmth.

Once, he contemplates bringing it up. Surely this meant something. But what if it doesn’t? It’s a small bed, after all. So Killua never asks.

One night it happens ― they’re already cuddling, Gon on his back and Killua’s head resting on his shoulder. In between the pauses in their conversation he can hear the  _ ba-dump, ba-dump _ of his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. He jokes about it, asking if Gon has ghost-blood pumping through his veins.

“We can find out,” Gon says excitedly, like it’s a science experiment.

“Let’s not,” Killua says. Sometimes he thinks he’s fifty percent of Gon’s impulse control. Or, to be more accurate, they trade turns at being the voice of reason depending on the situation, like they’re swapping brain cells back and forth.

Gon’s fingers trace patterns on the back of his shoulder blades. Killua tries to figure out what he’s drawing. Letters again, maybe. Or no, this time, these are swirls, lazy and looping up and down his back. He imagines Gon’s hands tracing lower, travelling up and down the length of his back. Painting a beautiful tapestry on his skin.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Gon says drowsily.

“I have a job interview,” Killua says. He yawns. His own graduation is fast approaching.

“Do you like the job?”

Killua can’t be bothered to shrug. He taps a finger on Gon’s arm instead. “It pays the bills. If I get it.”

“Huh.”

Silence stretches out. The room is wrapped in a cocoon of darkness, and the windows block all outside noise. For all Killua knows they could be on their own private planet right now, hurtling through the universe but completely still nevertheless. Time itself is treacle, minutes dripping by like hours and seconds like minutes. He could lay here like this forever, counting heartbeat against heartbeat and breathing in sleep and the scent of salt.

“How’s it feel, being so old?”

“You’re the same age I am,” Killua replies.

“But you’re getting older.”

“That’s true.” Killua considers. “I guess . . . it’s not that bad. My teenage years were the worst part of my life. So it’s better.”

“Yeah?”

“Like, I was anxious and worried every single day, y’know, and I acted out because of it. Did a lot of dumb shit. At least now I’m more . . . secure, I guess, with my life.”

“That’s good,” Gon says.

“I don’t want to grow older though.”  _ I want to stay the same. Stay like this _ .

Gon shrugs, and when he does his entire chest moves, and it’s like a tidal wave to Killua. “Don’t we all.” Killua wonders if that’s true.

He’s struck with an urge to apologize all of a sudden. He hoists himself up on his elbow so he can look at Gon in the face properly. The faint moonlight filtering in through the curtains illuminates the delicate planes and ridges of his features, from his hard jawline to the soft curve of his forehead. Gon is beautiful in the way that forests are in moonlight, untouched and utterly unpredictable.

Gon turns his face to look at him. His eyes are black in darkness, but his smile is as bright as ever. They’re so close.

“What?”

Killua forgets what he was going to say.

“What?” he repeats back, stupidly.

“Why’re you looking at me.”

“I don’t know, can’t I?”

Gon makes as if to push his face away, and Killua laughs and grabs his hand. He threads his fingers through Gon’s. Somehow, somewhere along the way, this had become second nature to him. He still remembered the night they met and the tense distance between them in the kitchen as Killua had clutched the counter for support and Gon had backed away like he was approaching a wild animal. Two people, one dead and one alive, trying to figure out how to coexist in the same space.

He doesn’t want this to end. Killua hopes Gon feels the same.

He leans down, and quick as a bird, kisses him on the cheek. It’s a light peck, nothing more. He draws back immediately.

Gon’s looking at him, but in the darkness Killua can’t tell what he’s feeling. His own face suffuses with heat.

“I ― ” Killua starts.

Gon’s other hand comes up and touches the back of his neck. Then he’s guiding Killua down for another kiss. This time it’s longer, slower, and much softer, impossibly, than the first one. Their lips brush against each other and stay like that. Killua closes his eyes.

When Killua finally pulls back, Gon’s eyes are shining in the moonlight. He wonders what he himself looks like, what expression he’s wearing. Something equally star-struck, he’s sure.

“Oh,” Gon says intelligently.

“Right,” Killua agrees. His cheeks are warm and he’s pretty sure his brain might be leaking out of his ears.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They look at each other for a second longer, and then Gon breaks first, and then they’re both giggling. Killua gasps for breath, ducking his head into Gon’s chest, which shakes with laughter.

“That was my first kiss,” Gon says. “I think.”

“Good,” Killua says.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ―  _ thank _ me, you idiot. Who does that?”

“You’re right,” Gon says, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “I’m sorry, I was just . . . um. Never mind.”

“It was nice,” he adds shyly.

“Idiot,” Killua repeats, and the glow inside him burns so hot that he’s sure Gon can feel it too.

“We should go to sleep.”

“Right.”

“Your interview ― ”

“I have to ― tomorrow ― yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They snuggle back up into each other. Killua wants to ask about the kiss, and what it means, and what they’re going to do in the future. Are they together? Does Gon care for him like he cares for Gon? Yet he’s still a ghost, after all, and he’s going to leave eventually (Is he, though? Would he really? That’s the million-dollar question). But to ask, to  _ discuss _ , that’s the kind of thing that adults do. That’s a job for future-Killua and right now he’s content with what he’s got. Take what you’re given and don’t ask for more, sayeth the Lord.

Killua falls asleep just as it starts to rain outside.

The next day starts off on a good note and continues all the way up until the evening. Killua wakes from a refreshing night’s sleep, his mind tranquil and his body well rested. He stretches in bed, feeling his muscles settle and his joints crack. During the night it had rained heavily, making the air smell of earth and feel cooler by about ten degrees. By the time he wakes, Gon is already up. He can hear him pottering around in the kitchen.

After he gets ready for class, he goes to the kitchen to find that Gon has already brewed coffee and is flipping pancakes. Killua hesitates, but comes up behind him and rests his chin on Gon’s shoulder, arms looping around him. Gon startles but says  _ Good morning _ in a ridiculously chirpy voice. The whole thing is unexpected, and tooth-rottingly domestic. Killua blushes later thinking of it, which is stupid but nice.

He goes to class, where he participates in discussions with unusual vigor. Dr. Krueger side-eyes him with a smile on her face, but she doesn’t comment on it except to ask him after class to come to her office to discuss his future career options. He meets up with Zushi for lunch. It’s not raining anymore, and the sun dances atop the clouds. While they’re talking and laughing sitting in a restaurant, Zushi asks him why he’s in such a jubilant mood.

“Did something good happen?”

“Nah,” Killua says. 

He wonders where Gon is and what he’s up to right now. Gon had told him some time ago that while Killua was out, he generally explored town and ran errands for elderly and handicapped people, as well as volunteering at shelters when he could and for as long as his ephemeral energy allowed.

After lunch he has another class, this time with Professor Wing. Then he runs home to get changed for his interview. Gon isn’t there, which doesn’t surprise him, so he quickly dons a suit and reaches the company building with five minutes to spare. The interviewer seems impressed by his resume and Killua walks out feeling acceptable if not satisfactory. He stops on the way home to buy groceries and drop off a scarf at the library where Kurapika works.

“Did something happen?” Kurapika asks, eyeing him.

“Jeez, why does everyone keep asking me that? Nothing happened,” he says.

“Okay,” Kurapika says, in a way that lets Killua know that his denial had been too vehement.

When he finally reaches his apartment, it’s late. Rain pitter-patters on the concrete outside. Gon is making some kind of pork fried rice in the kitchen, and the smell wafts through the entire place.

“Heya,” Killua says, walking in.

“Hi, Killua,” Gon says. “Dinner’ll be ready in a minute.”

The fried rice is piping hot and delicious. Gon tends to cook like what Killua imagines a military man might, with simple strong flavors and no food wasted. They finish eating and sit on the couch to watch a TV show. It’s a lighthearted comedy and silly enough for them to talk all the way through it. Gon leans against the arm of the sofa with Killua on the opposite end, his feet in Gon’s lap. 

“How did your interview go?” he asks.

“It was fine,” Killua says. “The guy had sweaty palms. He seemed more nervous of me than I was of him.”

“That’s because you’re intimidating, Killua.”

“I am?” Killua secretly tries not to feel proud. It was an image he’d worked hard to cultivate ever since he was thirteen, and only half the height of the adults around him. He knew it appeared standoffish to strangers sometimes, but it was habit by this point and anyhow, you could never be too careful around new people.

“Yeah,” Gon confirms. “You’re very pretty, first of all, and you ― hmm, how do I explain this? You have an intimidating air around you, like ― you look like you’re in charge of the situation at all times.”

“And I usually do. You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course.”

Killua throws a pillow at his face to hide his smile. Gon squawks, offended.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he notes.

“That’s what Zushi said too,” Killua says. “I don’t know, I just had a good night’s sleep, I guess.”

Gon falls silent and that’s the first clue. Killua looks at him. Laugh tracks blare from the TV screen. The characters, whose names Killua doesn’t remember, are doing some dumb rom-com shit that would never fly in real life. He couldn’t care less what the plot is. The laughter is as canned as it is unnecessary.

Gon keeps his eyes trained on the screen.

Killua frowns.

Realization hits him like a thunderbolt. He sits up abruptly, pulling his legs away from Gon’s lap. Gon makes a small noise of protest, trying to grab him back.

“I didn’t dream last night,” Killua says.

The flinch on Gon’s face is answer enough. Killua struggles to keep his tone level.

“You left the apartment?”

“. . . Yes.”

“Why?”

He regrets asking as soon as the question leaves his mouth. He’s so  _ stupid _ , so dumb. They should’ve talked that night as soon as they kissed. No, they should have started talking weeks ago when the hugging and cuddling started. They should’ve talked as soon as Killua got his first inkling of hope. If they had, maybe Killua wouldn’t have  _ assumed _ ― he wouldn't have gotten any  _ ideas _ ― 

“It’s not that,” Gon says hastily. “I wanted to kiss you.”

Killua doesn’t believe him. “Then why’d you leave?”

Gon glares down at his hands. His fingers worry at each other, nails clicking against each other. Killua rapidly feels himself losing control of the situation. “I wanted you to get some rest. Those dreams ― ”

“They’re  _ yours _ ,” Killua snaps. “We’ve been over this shit before.”

“I know, but it’s different now,” Gon says. “I have to ― ”

“What? Why? Nothing’s changed.”

_ Please, please, say nothing’s changed. _

“I had to rethink things. I had to consider ― ”

He cuts himself off, looking off to the side.

“What?” Killua says.

He doesn’t answer for a long time. Killua leans over and grabs the remote and shuts off the television. It plunges the room into silence. It weighs down the air between them. When Gon finally speaks, his voice is low and heavy.

“Killua, do you love me?”

The question hits him like a sucker punch.

“Why?” he says weakly.

“Do you?”

Maybe his brain is fried, his thoughts muddled with confusion. Maybe he’s shaken by the fact that Gon didn’t trust him, for what purpose he can’t even begin to know, not to stay with him at night. Whatever the reason, the words slip out of his mouth before he can bite them back.

“What would you do if I did?”

Killua feels a rush of adrenaline as soon as the words are out. Gon had to know from the kiss, and the way he’d answered just now. Killua had no more cards up his sleeve, they were all laid bare on the table, and all that was left was for Gon to pick them up if he so chose to.  _ Please pick them up. Please pick me. _

Instead, what Gon says is “If I never crossed over.” He stops, then starts again. “If I stayed here as a ghost. What would you do?”

No. No no no.

Killua isn’t allowed to hope like this. Take what you are given and ask for nothing more, sayeth the Lord. Don’t reach for more than you’re given, for there are consequences. Entitlement is a vice. Happiness must be earned.

And most of all, he can’t be selfish.

“Don’t ask me that,” Killua mumbles.

“Why not?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions? If I said I wanted you to stay, would you? If you’re not, don’t ― don’t get my hopes up like that.” Killua winces. His feelings are out now, plain as day, and there’s no taking it back.

“So you’d live the rest of your life out with me?” Gon asks.

Why’s he ignoring his questions? It infuriates him. Killua lifts his chin.

“Yes,” he says. “And what about it?”

“Nothing.”

Gon just looks at him. Killua feels a cold vise around his throat. He doesn’t understand what Gon’s trying to get at. It’s as if Gon had asked merely to fish out a confession and then left it dangling in the air between them. Why would he do that? Gon’s not a hurtful person, or even a dense one. He blinks back tears, because he’d be damned if Gon sees him cry now.

Why can’t he get an answer?

In the end Killua leaves first. He gets up from the couch, unable to stand the weight of Gon’s gaze on him ― impenetrable as always ― and goes to the bathroom. It’s late now, so he might as well start getting ready for bed. He takes his time to shower, brush his teeth, and change into pajamas. He fiddles with his phone and answers a few emails. He dithers around as much as he can in the bathroom.

When he finally emerges, Gon is perched on the end of the bed. His face is downturned, and he traces something on the bedsheet with the tip of a finger. He looks up when Killua approaches.

“Sorry, Killua,” he says, offering a smile. Even if Killua were to scrutinize it, he wouldn’t find anything. Gon’s smiles are as opaque as they are kind. For all that Gon is open on the outside, his true feelings remain as unknowable as the ocean. “I don’t know what I was saying earlier.”

Killua doesn’t believe him, but he’s tired of arguing. Nevertheless, he can’t keep the scowl off his face.

“Are you staying?”

“Huh?”

“Tonight.” He gestures at the bed. “For the dream.”

“Yes,” Gon agrees. “For the dream.”

“Fine.” Killua gets into bed and lays on his side facing away from Gon. For an instant he is seized with the fear that perhaps Gon will merely place a hand at his back, or something equally formal. Then, with a deep exhale, Gon scoots closer and slides an arm over his waist. His breath tickles the hairs on the back of Killua’s neck. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Goodnight, Killua,” he says.

“Mmm.”

Killua wants to ask why Gon had not answered. If feelings are a weakness, according to Illumi, and if Illumi is wrong about everything, then surely tonight should not be going as it did.

The truth of the matter is that Killua wants to nestle down deep into Gon’s bones, weigh him down with his love. Make him never leave without taking Killua along too.

But if Gon doesn’t want that . . .

Sleep doesn’t come easy. But when it does, the dreams come also.

This time with a vengeance. 

He’s standing in front of two people. They’re dressed in dark combat gear, hands raised meekly in the air. He looks down and realizes why: his gun is drawn and cocked, barrel pointed straight in the face of one of them.

“Where’s Kite!” he roars.

“W-Who?” One of them asks. Her voice trembles.

“He was captured by your people,” Killua spits out. The rage feels foreign on his tongue. “Where is he?”

Someone behind him murmurs something. Killua assumes it’s a teammate, because he doesn’t turn around or otherwise react. Sweat stings his eyes but the gun is strangely light in his hands. Too used to carrying its weight around, perhaps. The sun hangs low in the sky.

Killua is frightened out of his wits and this time it’s not the enemy who scares him.

“I ― we don’t know,” the woman says. “We don’t ― we’re not in charge of prisoners. I swear.”

“Take me to where you keep them, then,” Killua says. He doesn’t like the way her eyes are trained on him. They’re wide and frightened, but at the same time ― it’s too deliberate. Maybe ― 

“Gon!” Knuckle shouts from behind him.

Killua jerks backward just as the other man fires off a shot from a concealed revolver. The sound deafens him; the flash-bang of gunpowder stings his ears as he ducks away. Adrenaline courses through his veins.

Instinctively his finger pulls the trigger. The man writhes and drops to the ground like a brick.

“No! Colt!” The woman screams and drops with him. Killua coolly cocks his gun and points it back at her. She ignores it, crouching over her fallen teammate.

“Tell me where you took Kite,” he says to the man.

“Fuck,” he gasps. The woman rips a piece of cloth from her shirt and presses it into the wound, but Killua can see that it’s too late. Crimson stains the front of his jacket. His face is turning ashen.

The surroundings are utterly silent. They’re standing in the middle of a deserted wasteland.

“Tell me,” he says. He meets the man’s eyes. Killua realizes that this is the first time he’s talked with an enemy. Most of the time they’re too far away for him to hear their dying words. His victim is young, almost as young as he is. Good God, are there no adults fighting here anymore?

“N-no. Fuck you,” he growls.

“Colt,” the woman cries, aghast.

Killua doesn’t move a muscle. His stomach roils with horror and disgust, but his mind is ruled by Gon’s memories, and all he can think is  _ Kite. I need to find Kite. _ His mind takes no note of the sobs of the woman, or how icy his tone is when he replies.

“Tell me,” he repeats, and this time he makes a subtle motion with his gun towards the woman. Only the man, lying on the ground, sees it. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open. Some blood trickles out.

There’s a moment where time moves like glass; hard and serrated. Every second that passes grates on his mind.

Finally the man speaks.

“If I tell you, will you spare us?”

“Yes.”

“Swear on your honor.”

“If it’s the truth,” Killua says. “I will let you go.”

Knuckle steps up from behind him. “Gon,” he begins.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Your teammate ― ” the man struggles to speak, each breath coming labored and fast. “was taken to our headquarters to be ― interrogated. He didn’t betray you.”

“Is that where he’s being held right now?”

The man looks directly into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We don’t keep prisoners.”

. . . 

What?

. . . 

What, he says.

. . . 

He heard wrong.

. . . 

He knows he heard wrong. Constant artillery and gunfire has wrecked his hearing. He doesn’t process sounds right.

. . . 

It’s a mistake.

. . . 

He was executed, the man says.

. . . 

It has to be.

. . . 

Otherwise ― 

. . . 

No. You’re lying.

. . . 

I swear I’m not, he says.

. . . 

I’m sorry.

. . . 

His fingers are as light as air. Where’s his gun?

. . .

Are you paying attention?

. . . 

Kite?

. . . 

I’m sorry.

. . . 

You’re a good kid, Gon.

. . . 

Promise. You promised me.

. . . 

I promise I’ll take care of this gun and I won’t use it wrong.

. . .

Kite? Dead?

. . . 

Because of the man on the ground? He was weak. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill Kite.

. . . 

He killed Kite.

. . . 

_ He  _ killed him.

. . . 

It was ― 

. . . 

Not my fault, I swear it. The decision wasn’t mine. Please.

. . . 

Please.

. . . 

It was ― 

. . . 

_ His _ fault.

. . . 

_ His _ fault.

. . .

Gon throws his head back and screams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to leave y'all on a cliffhanger last time. let's see what's up next on the Gon & Killua Pain Show.

As opposed to most of his co-workers, Kurapika prefers the late-night shift. It’s colder during the winter, sure, but he can survive as long as he has his scarf and thermos. But he’s never been bothered by the dark, or the fact that he gets out close to 1am in the morning. Besides, he just likes the solitude. Compared to the flurry of activity during morning and afternoon rush hours, evenings at the library are slow and deliberate. It’s only him, stacking shelves and running inventory, a few patrons reading books, and Senritsu manning the front desk.

The library is beautiful. It dates back a couple of centuries, which is evident in its unique architecture, and the wood-grain finish of the walls makes the rooms glow in the soft amber light. The ceilings tower above him, the windows reach just as high, and the shelves are stacked with enough books to make the inside of the library as safe as a bomb shelter. Kurapika got the job thanks to Senritsu’s recommendation, and he loves it.

The only downside to the job is the occasional interactions with other people. Thankfully the crowd that frequents libraries aren’t as rowdy or entitled as, say, those at fast-food places, but Kurapika does get his fair share of trouble-makers and gripers. Last time, his manager had cautioned Kurapika to brush up on his customer service skills after a particularly nasty incident featuring a ripped book and a cup of water dumped over the customer’s head.

He’s in the non-fiction section, specifically in the Geography section, when he hears footsteps approaching and looks up.

“Hello,” Kurapika says with a polished smile. “Wel ― oh. Killua.”

His friend stands before him with hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized jacket. Kurapika can’t deny that he’s surprised; Killua is not one to visit the library except to kill time with Kurapika, and when he does, he always sends a text beforehand to make sure Kurapika’s on shift.

“Hey, Kurapika.” Killua looks up and around at the shelves surrounding them. “You busy?”

“Not particularly,” he replies. “As long as Cheadle doesn’t catch me chatting.”

“It’s for legitimate research,” Killua tells him. Again, Kurapika’s surprised. He notes his friend’s dishevelment with concern. Killua’s silvery-white hair always looks like a curly mess, but right now even the most charitable description wouldn’t describe it as a bird’s nest.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m looking for old newspaper archives,” Killua says. “Senritsu said there are scans.”

“Yes,” Kurapika says. “Follow me.”

He leads Killua out of the bookshelves, winding around armchairs and desks, up a flight of stairs, and into a separate room with glass windows.

Kurapika sits down in front of a computer. “What are you looking for?”

“Can’t I search it up myself?”

“Well, depending on the topic, it’ll give me a code that I can use to fetch the newspapers you’re looking for. We have over five thousand original copies in the vault below.”

“Oh. Um. Can you search up obituaries from this city during the Chimera invasion?”

“Obituaries? Do you want local newspapers only?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Kurapika clicks away at the mouse. Although ostensibly he focuses on the screen, he also can’t help but notice that Killua has huge bags underneath his dull blue eyes. It had better not be another case of overwork like it had been during his second year at college. Kurapika makes a note to himself to ask about it.

Killua beats him to the punch. “How’ve you been?” he asks, sincerely if not a bit wearily.

“Fine. Cheadle’s been talking about a promotion soon. You?”

“That’s good. Is that ― that’s the code number you’re talking about?”

“Yes,” he says. “You’re in luck, by the way. These ones have been digitized.”

“So I can see them on a computer?”

“One of the library’s specialized ones, yeah. This way.”

He leads Killua to a row of monitors. Kurapika logs into his account and then types in the code. Entries pop up on the page, and after scrolling for a while Killua points one out. Kurapika clicks it.

“So why war casualties?” he asks casually while he waits for the screen to load. Perhaps it’s for history or politics class ― although if he remembers correctly, he’s not entirely sure Killua had any classes like that this semester.

Sure enough, though, Killua grunts out a “Group project.”

“Mmm.” Killua is being unusually taciturn tonight. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the younger boy says. “Are those it?”

“Yes. Do you have a particular year in mind?”

“No. Thanks. I’ll just look through them one by one.”

“Okay. Bear in mind not to hit the back button when you need to get to a different page,” Kurapika warns. “It’ll take you all the way back to the beginning.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kurapika hovers for a moment at Killua’s shoulder before giving up and leaving him alone. Although his red flags are raised high and loud, he knows from prior experience that Killua does not like to be prodded and poked at. He’s prone to lashing out or sulking if so, depending on his mood. Leorio is the type to provoke him regardless, which always devolves into a screaming match, after which Killua’s mood improves. But Kurapika has neither the temperament nor the means to go that route. This is a library, after all.

He helps Senritsu at the front desk for a while. Patrons come and go, although more trickle out the doors than come in, this late at night. Kurapika watches Senritsu deal with cranky oldsters and confused newbies with the exact same patience and envies her fortitude.

Eventually, after less than an hour, Killua descends from upstairs. His expression hasn’t changed, and he waves at Kurapika with all his earlier exhaustion. He almost leaves right then and there, but Kurapika catches him near the door.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yep.”

Kurapika decides to give him the benefit of the doubt ― maybe he’s almost done with the project and this is just a check-up. “Killua, are you all right?” he asks instead.

“I’m okay,” Killua says softly. “Just tired. Don’t worry.”

“Oh.” Kurapika regards him warily. He of all people knows too well how often  _ tired _ is synonymous with its more dangerous cousin _. Tired _ is a useful cover until it runs out of its usefulness.

“Well, once you get better, we should hang out,” he suggests.

Killua stares at him. “Good idea.”

“We could go check out the new indoor skating rink,” Kurapika says.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never tried roller-skating, right?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You and me,” Kurapika continues, “and Leorio and Gon. And Alluka too, if she’s free.”

He can’t understand the shadow that passes over Killua’s face, who purses his lips and he blinks without replying. So Killua’s sad. Despondent, really. Why? What could have happened?

He hazards a guess. “Is Alluka doing well?”

The way Killua looks at him, Kurapika is sure he’s being too obvious. Killua hates being handled with kid gloves. “She’s okay. Excited about next week.”

“That’s good. We should all hang out.”

“Yeah. See you later, Kurapika.”

“All right. Bye.”

Kurapika returns to his station feeling distinctly like a failure. Senritsu notices.

“What’s wrong?”

“Killua’s sad about something, I can’t figure it out,” he explains.

“I thought the same,” she says. “I’m sure he’ll tell you in his time.”

“Maybe.” Even after their years of knowing each other, Killua clings to bad habits. He divulges secrets like he’s an oyster with a pearl, and it’s only when Kurapika or someone else pries at him with good intentions and a firm resolve that he opens up.

“We could also ask Gon,” Senritsu says. “I saw him earlier during my morning shift.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know he came to the library.”

“Technically he’s not allowed to because he’s not a student. I have no idea how he got through security, but he was here and I helped him.”

“What was he looking for?”

“Obituaries.”

Kurapika smells a conspiracy. He  _ knew _ that class project excuse had been bullshit. But he does wonder why, if Killua and Gon had been looking for the same thing, they hadn’t visited the library together. “Let me guess, from the Chimera war era?”

“Err, not quite. From the years after.”

Kurapika frowns. “Oh.”

He makes a note to ask Gon about it as soon as they next meet.

In retrospect, Leorio should’ve texted him beforehand that he was coming. But he held to his motto that showing up announced was a Close Friend privilege and so here he was now, standing in front of Killua’s door and knocking.

“It’s me,” he calls through the door. “Open up, asshole.”

Like he said, it’s a privilege. And Leorio had earned it with blood, sweat, and tears. Being close with Killua was, after all, not an opportunity afforded to everyone. Most people were turned off by his competency and bluntness. If only they would expend the tiniest bit more effort, they would see, as Leorio and others had, that Killua was a bleeding-heart softie inside.

He remembered the first time he’d met Killua. Kurapika he had already known from previous acquaintanceship (namely from an entire semester’s worth of debates, both inside and outside the classroom), but Killua had been a first-year student and obvious about it. Leorio had sometimes noticed his electric-blue eyes darting between him and Kurapika as they’d battled it out on Shakespeare’s homoeroticism in his sonnets, and he got the sense that Killua would’ve liked to join in the debate. So when the professor had paired the three of them together and assigned them  _ Twelfth Night _ , he’d had no complaints. In fact, Leorio had even been a little excited. An infamous Zoldyck son, in their dinky little college? And he was just as intimidatingly attractive and smart as they said.

“I’m Killua,” he’d said during introductions. They were sitting in a corner of the classroom with their notes and the play in front of them.

“I’m Kurapika, and this is Leorio,” Kurapika said.

“Aren’t you a Zoldyck?” Leorio asked, leaning forward. Kurapika shot him a glance.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Why’d you decide to come here of all places?”

“My family thought this town was shit, so I came to check it out,” Killua said frostily.

So, yeah. To say they got off to the wrong start was an understatement. But beneath Killua’s hard exterior was a melting core, a contradiction of character that Leorio liked to tease him about until he found out more about the Zoldyck family. Then he never made fun of Killua for it ever again. Then he wondered how he had been so blind, and resolved to do more, to do better. It wasn’t just a case of “do no harm” (and the oath had never been about just that), but one of active rescue.

He and Kurapika spent the majority of that year prying Killua loose from his tight-lipped secrecy. He had a tendency to deflect, laugh off abuse, or clam up entirely, all three skills polished to the highest degree, which made it difficult for anyone to get through. Eventually he got used to Leorio and Kurapika’s attempts and endured it in a way that made it obvious that he was touched by their efforts. The trick was not to force it, but to let Killua approach, slowly but surely. Even so, Leorio didn’t think he’d ever get the full story on the Zoldyck family.

He bangs on the door harder. “Killua!” he bellows. His knuckles sting, so he switches it up.

The door swings open before his next fist makes contact. “Shut the fuck up, Leorio, you’re scaring my neighbors.”

“Oh. Sorry. Hey.”

“Hi,” Killua stares at his face without inviting him inside. His face is bleary and puffy. He’s also wearing pajamas, which ― Leorio almost checks his watch ― is just not like Killua, considering it’s the middle of the day.

“Was class canceled or something?” he says.

“What? Oh. Yeah.” Killua abruptly pulls away from the door. “Come in.”

Now, Leorio is a twenty-seven-year-old bachelor with an on-and-off couch-surfer friend. He didn’t grow up affluent, going from trailer parks to subsidized housing to a tiny apartment the size of a matchbox. He’s also a med student and does rounds on rotation at two different hospitals. His diet consists of instant ramen and cold-cut sandwiches, and Kurapika had yelled at him just last week about letting mold grow in the showers. The point is, he gets it. College life is tough. Cleaning up after yourself is rough.

However, Killua has always been on the neater side of the spectrum. At the very least, he picks his clothes off the floor and washes the dishes within two days of their use. But as Leorio looks around the apartment now, it is clear that something has happened. The curtains are drawn shut, and the air is musty and mixed with the scent of takeout. He catches sight of trash bags bundled up in the kitchen. As Leorio passes by the flowers on the windowsill, he sees that they’ve lost the will to live as well.

Killua sees his appraisal of the apartment. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ll get it cleaned up today.”

“No judgment,” Leorio says. “We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah. So what’s up,” Killua says, walking over to the couch. He plops down on it and offers Leorio a packet of cookies in its sleeve.

“No thanks.” Leorio moves aside a pile of clothes and sits down as well. “Nothing much. Just came here to see my buddies.”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Killua says. “Gon isn’t here.”

“Aww, how come?”

Killua’s mouth opens then shuts. “He . . . ”

Leorio looks at him.

Killua tries again. “He’s . . . um . . .”

Leorio can practically see the various excuses rotating through Killua’s brain. Out to get groceries. Away for a work trip. Family emergency. Whatever it’s going to be, the silence is already too long and anything Killua says is going to sound pathetic in comparison.

“Oh, Killua,” he says. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Killua frowns. “I didn’t . . .”

“No need,” Leorio says. He holds up a hand. “I won’t ask if you don’t want to say.”

“I . . . ” Killua links his hands together. “Well. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Leorio adds under his breath, though, because no matter what he’d said, he’s shocked.

He hadn’t expected it of Killua and Gon, of all people.

For a moment Leorio is at a loss for what to do. It’s all very good and perceptive of him to recognize the problem, but what he needs now is a solution. That had always been Kurapika’s forte. He wishes he were here now. Well, Leorio had never been one to sit and let the grass grow beneath his feet, especially not in an apartment as rife for that as this one is.

With all the pep he can muster, Leorio says “I was bored!”

Killua squints at him. “What?”

“I came here because I had nothing to do. Let’s give your shit apartment a make-over.” Leorio jumps to his feet and dislodges a sock from the couch. “Starting with these clothes here and the trash in your kitchen.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Killua says, picking up the sock. “It’s fine.”

“Clearly not.” Leorio places his hands on his hips. “Come on. Up, up.”

“Jeez, you’re annoying,” Killua gripes, but he gets to his feet nevertheless. He glances around the room, looking lost.

“You get the laundry started,” Leorio suggests, “and I’ll do the trash.”

“I promise I’ll do it.”

“Now?”

“Now ― ugh, all right. That’s all you’re helping with, though. It’s my apartment.”

“Well, yours and Alluka’s. Isn’t she coming tomorrow?”

Killua blinks. “Yes.” Then, with a renewed energy, he says, “Yes. You’re right.”

Leorio smiles. He takes a breath to prepare himself mentally and heads off towards where the stink is strongest.

He does what he can for his friends. It’s a labor of love. That’s his new motto.

Hours later, the apartment is almost as good as new. The clothes are freshly laundered and folded away. The trash is gone and the entire kitchen smells of freesias, courtesy of copious amounts of air freshener. Every flat surface has been dusted and wiped, furniture straightened, floor swept, toilet scrubbed. Even the drooping flowers on the windowsill have perked up at the end of their efforts. 

All that’s left are the dishes in the sink. This one they do together. Killua tackles the plates with vigor and detergent while Leorio avoids the splashing water and stacks the dried ones away in the cabinet. He sees the lines of tension in Killua’s hunched back and doesn’t say anything until Killua does.

Killua speaks for the first time in hours. “I don’t think Gon is coming back,” he says.

“Oh . . . like, ever?”

“No.”

“Not even to, like, pick up his clothes or whatever?”

Killua winces. “He doesn’t have clothes here.”

That’s news to Leorio. He’s certain he’d seen Gon wearing Killua’s hoodies a couple of times in the past, so they must have shared wardrobes. Maybe Killua means that Gon had already come by to take his stuff away. In which case ― 

“When did he leave?”

“A week ago.”

Wow, that’s  _ fast _ . And it’s also a frighteningly irreversible decision.

“That sucks, man.” It feels totally inadequate to what he wants to express, but Killua takes it anyway.

“Thanks.”

They continue washing dishes for a while. Leorio puts away a dried up and catches the door of the cabinet before it slams shut.

Sometime later Killua speaks up again. “I’ll get over it eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That’s a relief.

“It was never going to last anyway,” Killua says. “I knew it from the start.”

Never mind.

“Oh, come on,” Leorio says. He puts his hands on his hips.

Killua shakes his head, bending down over the sink. He scrubs at a spot on the plate so fast the suds go flying.

“Don’t think like that. Mistakes happen,” Leorio says. “Don’t let that discourage you.”

“Wasn’t a  _ mistake _ ,” Killua snaps, then immediately retracts it. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. I just, I just ― “ Killua puts down the last plate and rinses off his hands.

“I always knew he was too good to be true,” Killua says roughly. 

“ _ Don’t  _ say that.” Leorio breathes in sharply. “It’s not true.”

“It is. He's everything I’m not.”

“Killua, you little shithead,” Leorio says. “Listen to me.”

Killua raises his head. His blue eyes gleam with unshed tears. Leorio hates how small his voice is, how dejected he looks when he speaks about himself. He hates the Zoldyck family with a burning passion.

“If Gon were to hear you say this, what would he say?”

Too late, Leorio remembers that he doesn’t know the circumstances of their breakup. For all he knows, it could’ve been a messy affair. But he likes to think he’s a good judge of character, so he holds his breath.

Killua looks away.

“Well?”

“He’d be mad,” Killua mumbles.

The gamble had paid off. Thank God.

“Right. He wouldn’t want to hear you say that shit about yourself,” Leorio says. “Whatever happened between you two, you still . . . deserve good things.”

“I wanted it to be so. That’s why I asked him to stay.”

Leorio flounders. “Then why’d he go?”

At that, Killua stiffens. “Reasons,” he says.

That’s fine. It’s their relationship. But still.

“You’re not what your family says you are,” Leorio says firmly.

“I’m still selfish.”

“You’re not. You’re not your brother. Okay?”

Killua shudders. “Ugh. As if I’d ever be Illumi.”

“Exactly! You’re a good big brother to Alluka and you’re a good friend,” Leorio says. “Nothing more to it.”

He doesn’t reply. But Leorio can see his gears turning, and hopefully, they’re turning in the right direction.

“Thanks,” Killua says after a while. He physically shakes himself out of it and meets Leorio’s eyes. “You’re a real sap, did you know that?”

“I have to be,” Leorio huffs. “Getting you to talk is like pulling teeth, I swear.”

“You won’t have many left to pull out then.”

“Tell me about it.”

Leorio grins widely at him. Killua answers with a small smile. Leorio lays his hand on the phone in his back pocket, where he still has Kurapika’s text message open in the chat.

_ I think we should check up on Killua. He needs us. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be up soon because this one was kinda short.
> 
> i also want to take the time to say that i read every one of your comments and i balloon with love and warmth every time. y'all are seriously wonderful and i cannot get enough of your reviews :')


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here is the early release for this chapter feat. the zoldyck family theme blasting on repeat while i write about killua and alluka being the best sibling duo
> 
> tw for misgendering and mentions of past transphobia (although really, illumi's existence in and of itself is transphobic)

College is going to be a _breeze_ . First off, her grades are top notch. Secondly, she’s going to go live with her brother. And thirdly, she’s all set for the first week of classes when professors ask that dreaded question: _Tell everyone a fun fact about yourself!_ Alluka has _loads_ to choose from.

My family owns shares in just about every major energy company in this part of the country! My eldest brother is a psychopath! My parents preemptively wrote me out of the will when I came out!

And who could forget the kicker: I have a sister who is a ghost.

Only their immediate family and a few outsiders, like Gon, knew about Nanika. She was their best-kept and most-feared secret. In fact, Nanika had been the scapegoat for most of her family’s issues with Alluka. Mom had once tearfully confessed (to Kalluto, but Alluka overheard) that the only reason Alluka thought she was a girl was because a female ghost was possessing her. Funnily enough, they respected Nanika’s gender more than hers.

College is going to be a breeze, because anything was better than the Zoldyck mansion where things like privacy and fun facts went to die. And she was going to be with Killua, the person she loved most in the world next to Nanika.

She knocks on the door, and only has to wait a second before Killua opens it as if he’d been waiting on the other side. He spreads his arms, and this time Alluka gets her hug in first.

“Hey,” he laughs. He’s taller than her, and slightly thinner than the last time she’d hugged him. She looks up into his face, which is creased with affection.

And sadness. So much sadness.

“What’s ― ” she starts.

“Killua!” Nanika springs forward and greets him with a crashing embrace.

“Hey, Nani ― oof! You’re getting bigger, Nanika!”

“Mmm,” Nanika says. She cheeses so hard her entire face splits into a smile. “Missed you, Killua.”

“I missed you too. Both of you.”

He leads them inside, carrying Alluka’s suitcase. It contains the last of her things from the mansion. They dump it in her room, which is neat and tidy, with boxes ready to be unpacked sitting on the bed. In this room lies all the worldly possessions Alluka owns. The window is open, spilling in the scent of the sea and the fading afternoon light.

“You wanna go ahead and start unpacking?” Killua asks. “I can make dinner while you do that.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Alluka says. Nanika’s already bouncing on her toes at the prospect of decorating the room.

“Okay.”

He smiles at her and leaves.

Alluka wonders what’s wrong. But she knows that Killua would tell her in his own time ― wouldn’t he? He’s her only brother just like she’s his only sister. So she rolls up her sleeves and gets to work instead. For the two hours she unpacks, folds, tidies away. Posters are put up, desk arranged just how she likes it, and her favorite books line the shelf above. Nanika runs around with stuffed animals and props them up just so. Killua comes in a couple of times to get her water and plates of cut-up fruit. Then, as she’s putting away the last of her clothes on the hangers, he calls from the dining room.

Dinner is hot pot. Killua fusses over the soup the entire time, constantly adjusting the heat on the portable stove and picking the choicest meats and vegetables to put in Alluka and Nanika’s plates. Nanika doesn’t eat, but she enjoys having a bowl to herself nevertheless. Alluka protests and tries to get him to sit still, but Killua is four years older than her and he babies her relentlessly.

“Congrats on graduating. I forgot to say earlier.”

“Thanks.”

“I was thinking we could go on a walk later. The beach nearby is really pretty, and there are a bunch of shops and parks. I mean, most of the shops are closed, but I can show you where they are.”

“Sounds fun.” She smiles, and he smiles back.

He’s definitely thinner. She can see it in his jawline. His eyes, too, haunt her. They’re big and blue like her own, but the shadows underneath are bad news. His fingers fidget and pick at objects on the table like ghostly white spiders, full of a restless energy.

Speaking of ghosts, Alluka decides to bite the bullet.

“Where’s Gon?” she asks.

“What?”

“G-o-n,” she says. “You know who he is. Where is he?”

Killua sets down his bowl. “He’s gone.”

“ _What!_ What do you mean? He . . . crossed over?”

“No. I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”

Alluka twists in her seat. “Is he in the apartment right now?”

“I wouldn’t know, Alluka, he can turn invisible.”

“Didn’t he tell you where he was going?”

“No.”

Alluka is dumbfounded. “How long ago?”

“A week or so.”

She looks at Nanika, who stares back at her with fathomless black eyes. _Is he serious?_

“Why’d he just leave like that?”

Killua looks profoundly uncomfortable. “We finally figured out his past. I woke up and he was gone. He wanted some time to himself . . . to process, I guess.”

“Wh ― are you sure he hasn’t crossed over yet?” Alluka asks, though she hates to consider the possibility. Gon was so kind and fun and she’d been looking forward to seeing him again.

“I don’t think so, because ― ” He ducks his head. “I was hoping he’d come and say goodbye first.”

All at once, Alluka is _furious_.

This is exactly what she’d been worried about. Back when she had first met Gon, she’d seen it: the fondness in Killua’s expression, the way his eyes strayed to Gon when they were in the same room, his soft jabs and quiet euphoria when Gon laughed. Her brother was a cautious person, she knew, and who could blame him, with a family like that? When he was with Gon, that had been the most open she’d ever seen him. She got her confirmation when she found out that they were sleeping in the same bed, linking _pinkies_ , for heaven’s sake. Her big brother, as worldly as he was wise, was also unfortunately thicker than a block of wood. Gon, too, if he thought the same. 

At the time Alluka hadn’t said anything, because Killua was a grown adult and he could handle his own love affairs. But now she knew that had been a mistake. It wasn’t her place. Yet of course Killua, starved of love as he was, wouldn’t care about the fact that Gon was a ghost. Of course he’d throw himself into anything, heedless of the consequences. Of course he’d see it as somehow reflective of his own worth. She should have cautioned him. It wasn’t that Alluka disapproved of Gon ― she liked him immensely and couldn’t think of a better person for Killua ― but she’d hoped that they would discuss their future and come to a solution that would bring the most happiness or leave the least heartbreak, whichever it was.

Not this. Not this . . . radio silence.

“I’ll chase him to the underworld myself if he doesn’t,” Alluka says. “Right, Nanika?”

Nanika nods. Killua looks at her, bemused.

Gon had better come back and give her brother a proper goodbye, or so help her, Alluka would never forgive him.

A week later, Gon still hadn’t appeared. Alluka suspects that it is partly because she and Killua are always together. It’s the summer holidays for both of them, so they spend every day outside together and come back in the evening. Killua in particular seems anxious to stay around her and shower her with attention. Alluka doesn't mind; they catch up after long years of not being able to see each other, and all the walking around helps acclimate her to her new home. Killua introduces her to his friends, who are all very sweet and clearly love her brother, so she loves them.

In the meantime she gets to know Killua better. She picks up painting and sketches Killua and the flowers in the windowsill and Nanika in her free time. Nanika takes a shine to it, so she helps Alluka paint murals on the walls of their bedroom.

She _adores_ this new home. It’s perfect. The rooms are draughty and the landlord gives off rancid vibes, but it’s her and Killua’s home and it’s safe and impenetrable. It’s the first time she can truly relax, and as cliche as it sounds, truly _be_ herself. In the space of her new home, smaller than her room at the old house, but more than large enough for her freedom, Alluka blooms.

That’s why, when Killua sits her down in the living room one night with a serious face, it comes out of the blue. He pats the spot next to him on the couch, and she sits down. For a minute she thinks it’s about Gon. But he soon sets her straight.

“I have to apologize to you, Alluka,” he says. “And Nanika.” He hesitates, looking at Nanika. She’s asleep, curled up on the sofa with her head in Alluka’s lap. Her ivory face is peaceful, mouth slightly open as she snores. Alluka strokes her hair, modeled after her own.

“Should I wake her?”

“No. Hear me out first, and then tell me if I should say this to her as well.”

“Oh . . . okay?” Alluka’s not sure where this is going.

Killua takes a deep breath. “I was scared of Nanika.”

Oh.

It’s always that. 

Alluka had always known that life was unfair. Why else would she, who loved family more than anything, have only one brother left after the dust settled? Why else would Killua, who was the best person she knew, have his heart undone by a ghost? Why else would she and Killua, who had empathy and kindness and everything her family didn’t, have to suffer the way they did? 

But Nanika was on another level altogether. All she ever asked for was something she’d never had when she was alive.

All she asked for was a bit of care and some love. 

Alluka tamps down the sorrow that wells inside her. She picks up on a word. “Was?” she asks.

“Yes. I used to be scared of her, because ― well, she’s a ghost. And because our family hated her so much.”

She looks at him, shocked.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Killua says hastily. “I didn’t hate her. I would never. I just thought that they . . . treated you badly because they didn’t like Nanika. So I wished that she would go away, so they would be kinder to you.”

“Oh, Brother,” she whispers.

“I know. It was dumb. They’re assholes and they’d be assholes no matter if Nanika was with you or not. I just ― I was scared. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything. Killua, as if prompted by her silence, continues. He’s picked up a throw pillow and shreds the frilled edges with his fingers as he speaks.

“She’s my sister too. I don’t know if she ever picked up on it, which is why I didn’t want to bring it up with her if she didn’t know. But you should know, Alluka, because I ― ”

He takes a deep breath. “I promise I’ll be a good brother to you both. I promise.”

He bows his head.

Alluka sighs.

“You’re an idiot,” she says firmly.

Killua chuckles and lifts his head. “You only just found out?” But his laugh is shaky and he’s still clutching the pillow in his lap like it’s a lifeline.

She can almost finish his unspoken words for him. It breaks her heart that Killua, who is strong and brave and loves her enough to completely abandon the rest of their family, should be so scared of her. Not Nanika. _Alluka._

“Come here,” she says, opening her arms. Killua hugs her tightly. He smells of lemons, sharp and sweet.

Their positions are reversed; she the older sibling and him the younger, _her_ protecting _him_ instead of the other way around like it had been for years.

“I forgive you,” Alluka says. “And there’s no need to tell Nanika. She only ever loved you. She doesn’t know the rest.”

“Good,” Killua says. “That makes me feel better.”

“Good,” she repeats. She pulls back and before he lets her go, Killua ruffles her hair, knocking her ribbons askew. She levels him with a glare. 

“We’re family,” she tells him.

He cocks his head to the side. “Yes?”

“You and me and Nanika. We’ll be together. No matter what.”

He smiles at her, and it’s the first time in a week that she thinks it’s his full, genuine, a hundred-percent smile.

“No matter what,” he agrees.

Contrary to popular belief, Alluka doesn’t hate most of her family. She just doesn’t know them enough to feel any particular emotion. Dad was always at work, and when he was home, he shut himself up in his study and only permitted Killua, who was his favorite, to enter. Grandfather was kindly but absent and soon disappeared into the recesses of their massive mansion to do God knows what. Mom was hysterical about her children but left Alluka alone, who was a lost cause. Kalluto she didn’t know well, since he was always at a private boarding school. Milluki was an ass but not particularly dangerous.

Who was it who said that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference? If her love for Killua is heavy on one end of the spectrum, then on the other end are her parents, grandparents, Milluki, and Kalluto.

Directly perpendicular to this spectrum ― in fact, on another dimension altogether ― is her fear and hatred of Illumi.

Illumi was the eldest son, older than her by fourteen years (yes, her mother married young). By the time she was old enough to have memories, she was already terrified of his void-black eyes and the absolute emptiness in his voice whenever he talked about her, an absence of all sympathy and even hate, merely a clinical interest like she was a bug he’d happened to find on the ground. She knew there was something wrong with him in the way Nanika disappeared in his presence, except the one time he’d threatened Alluka. Then Nanika had shaken the room with her rage until Illumi got out and never came back.

In contrast to that, he loved Killua. Their parents had high hopes for their heir, and so by proxy Illumi had high hopes for Killua. Killua was meant to be smart, ruthless with money, ambitious, and isolated ― so Illumi did his best to make him just that. He tormented Alluka because he was bored, or because he wanted to motivate Killua. He tormented Killua because in some fucked up way, he wanted to make him stronger. And he thought he could do that by controlling Killua absolutely, and in order to do that, he needed fear.

Illumi was very skilled at cultivating fear.

She hadn’t thought that he would ever be a part of their lives again. But one night, when she and Killua are engaged in a battle of Princess Peach vs. Donkey Kong on Smash Bros, there is a knock at the door. It’s a normal night on a normal weekday, and pizza containers lie haphazardly on the table in front of the couch. Killua looks up and frowns.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asks.

“I’ll get it,” Alluka says, and here her naivete shoots her in the foot. Anyone who had not grown up in a four-story mansion with butlers and maids would have had sense enough to look through the peephole before opening the door. As it was, Alluka swung the door straight open.

Illumi stands in the doorway, backlit by the light outside like a bad adaptation of a Dracula film.

Her mouth dries up instantly. Her hand tightens on the knob of the door, and Illumi sees it, because he steps forward and puts a foot inside their house. Inside _their_ house. He’s dressed in a stylish dress shirt and long loose pants, and his black hair hangs down to his waist, highlighting the paleness of his face.

Killua pauses the game. “Alluka?” he calls from the living room. She hears his footsteps come, then stop.

She turns. Killua is staring at Illumi, his face the color of whey. In that moment she is transported, they are all transported, back to the time when they were children, when Illumi loomed over them physically as well as mentally, when they were completely at his mercy.

Illumi speaks first.

“Hello, Killua,” he says, soft-spoken as always. He looks around the living room. “Still playing house, I see.”

“Get out,” Killua says.

Illumi takes no notice of him. He pushes past Alluka into the room, and too shocked to move, she lets him. Illumi moves like she imagines a predator might, slow and assured. Why would the king of the jungle care about the small animals in its path? Killua and Alluka are frozen to their spots. Even if she wanted to move, she couldn’t. Illumi casts that kind of spell. Her muscles are tightly coiled, and her breath is trapped in her chest. Above all, do not call attention to herself. Do not. It never ends well.

Killua’s eyes flick over to her; she curses inwardly. Illumi notices, and his gaze alights on her as well.

“I imagine you’re doing this for him,” he says. “Stupid of you, Killua.”

Killua opens his mouth and takes a breath. She can see his fists clenched at his sides. “Get the fuck out, Illumi. We don’t want you here.”

“Hmm.” Illumi takes another step towards the hallway which leads towards the bedrooms.

“I’m serious. We’ll call the cops.”

“What, I can’t visit my little brother once in a while? Speaking of that, Killua, we miss you very much. Come back.”

“No.”

Her chest strains with pressure. Alluka lets out her breath, and the air trapped inside leaves in an audible rush. She takes a step towards Killua, and his hand moves out to grab hers. It might be embarrassing otherwise, two grown adults facing off against a tall thin man, but Alluka doesn’t care. Illumi is not outwardly threatening at first glance. But this isn’t the type of situation for outsiders to look into.

Nanika has disappeared. Alluka feels her cowering somewhere deep inside her, but she loathes Illumi with the kind of fear that is all-consuming. If Killua and Alluka are paralyzed by Illumi, Nanika is anaesthetized. She completely shuts down. She probably won’t emerge unless Alluka is in serious danger, but Killua would never let that happen anyway. She can count on Nanika staying put, thankfully.

Knowing that her sister is scared― sweet, shy Nanika, who only ever asked to be shown the bare minimum of love and respect ― injects fresh courage into her veins. She grips Killua’s hand.

“You heard him,” she says. Her voice is scratchy.

Illumi doesn’t even deign to look her way. “Killua,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I know you like to think you’re being altruistic and kind. But you're not a charity.”

“Shut up. Alluka’s my sister. We take care of each other.”

Illumi raises a finger, cutting off the end of Killua’s sentence. His curiously dead eyes rove around the room, taking in the pictures on the walls, the clutter of a lived-in home, the flowers in their little pots on the windowsill. To the last in particular, his eyes narrow. He begins pacing up and down the room slowly, as if he were a lecturer. Killua and Alluka track his every movement.

“The world isn't a nice little place with nice little people. Humans are too self-serving. Your family is, unfortunately, the only ones who truly want the best for you,” Illumi says.

In a brief moment of calm, Alluka realizes that her eldest brother is batshit insane. Who seriously believes that? But looking at Killua’s ashen face, she suddenly feels a fresh wave of fear.

“You might enjoy whatever you’re doing right now,” Illumi says. “That’s fine. Pat yourself on the back for charity. But just know,” he says, “that one day people go off and leave you, just like you leave them. Only family remains.”

He finally looks at Alluka for the first time. “True family,” he adds.

Killua wets his lips.

“Alluka’s my true family,” he says. “And I can love others outside my family, unlike you.”

“But they will one day leave you too. Surely you know that.”

Killua draws in a sharp breath. His back snaps straight like a bowstring pulled taut. She sees the instant that Illumi smells blood. Even if he doesn’t know why or how he’d hit a shot in the dark, once he knows that it had landed, he knows that it’s something worth latching onto.

“Why do you think you've settled for taking in Alluka?” Illumi continues. He spreads his hands. “It’s because both of you lack that thing to make others love you.”

“No."

“Yes,” Illumi says. As if he were proclaiming a message from God.

“I have friends.”

“They don’t love you."

"Shut up. Don't project onto me. You'd say anything to get me to go back home."

"You wouldn't be so mad if you didn't think I was telling the truth, now would you?" Illumi tips his head to the side and smirks. ""You’re an inherently unlovable person, Killua, and you know it.”

She sees it the moment he cracks. 

“I have someone who loves me,” Killua shouts. “I do! You’re wrong, and you’ve always been wrong!”

She sees the pent-up grief and anger and heartbreak come spilling out of her brother’s lips.

He strides to the door and throws it open.

“Get the _fuck_ out,” he seethes. “And never show your stupid fucking ugly face here, you piece of shit. I hate you.”

Illumi frowns and shakes his head with something approaching fatherly disapproval. “Killua, you’re being irrational. Calm down.”

“You’re a lying ― “

“Tell me, then.”

“What? You’re ― “

“Tell me someone who loves you. Alluka doesn’t count.”

“My friends love me.”

“Who? Give me names.”

“Why should I have to? You’re not getting to them either.”

“See?” Illumi spreads his hands. “You can’t name them.”

“I don’t need to,” Killua spits. “I don’t need to prove it to you, or prove myself to them. I just _know_.”

Looking into his face, Alluka thinks that he does.

To that, Illumi doesn’t respond. For the first time she sees the uncertainty on his face like a crack in marble.

Pride swells in Alluka’s chest. Even Nanika shivers inside her. Killua’s eyes are blazing, his face a snarl, rage in every line of his body. He looks Illumi in the eye and doesn’t waver. This is Killua at his best ― passionate, strong, and above all, loving. It’s something she’d always known, of course. Killua is the kindest, bravest person she knows. Brave enough to love her and love Nanika and love others even when it shows weakness.

How could anyone _not_ love him? Yet this was the first time she had ever heard him assert it himself.

Illumi blinks and opens his mouth to say more, but at that moment, she hears footsteps from outside the door. A pot-bellied man with thick eyebrows pokes his head in.

“Hello all,” he says pleasantly. “Sorry to bother. But you’re being really loud.”

“Tonpa,” Killua says. “Call the cops.”

“I can hear y’all from ― excuse me?”

“Just do it.”

“Call the cops?”

“Killua ― ”

“Shut the fuck up. Call them.”

“This is stupid,” Illumi says, and she really starts to see him lose his cool facade just a little bit more. _lIlumi_ is. He grits his teeth. “Sir, we’re family ― “

“No, we’re not. Get out. Or I’m getting a restraining order on you.”

No one moves or speaks. It’s like he’d dropped a black hole in the room, sucking out all sound. Tonpa’s eyes are wide, and she can’t blame him. She can’t imagine what they look like right now, a charade of a family standing like statues in the middle of the living room, the muted TV flashing behind them. Her hands feel numb and frozen.

Illumi seethes. He and Killua stare at each other, neither backing down.

She sees it the moment he realizes his loss.

After a few tense seconds, Illumi tosses his head and carries himself out of the room. He ignores Tonpa and Killua. But just before he leaves, he glances at Alluka. She knows what it means. She flips him a finger.

Then he’s gone.

Tonpa looks over his shoulder, astonished. He clears his throat and scratches his belly, clearly unwilling to wade into the mess but unsure how to extricate himself without getting caught. But when it becomes clear that Illumi is not returning, he looks back at Killua.

“So . . . uh . . .”

“No need,” Killua says wearily. “Thanks, Tonpa.”

“Oh . . . ”

“Bye.” Killua shuts the door in their landlord’s face. He turns around, leaning against the heavy door, and smiles at Alluka.

So now she has another fun fact she can share on her first day of classes, if the professor were to ever ask for introductions.

Her big brother is a _badass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh i can't believe this was the penultimate chapter. next week is the last update, and hopefully some closure for y'all . . . yes, i miss Gon too. i hear y'all
> 
> btw just know that i treasure every single comment deep inside my heart. you guys are seriously the best.


	10. Chapter 10

For lack of a better term, Killua moves on.

There are so many things to do, places to be, people to talk to. In the weeks since Gon disappears, Killua buries himself in work. He takes Alluka to all the restaurants and farmer’s markets nearby, as well as the beach. He joins her and Nanika when they do a mural painting in the living room. She’s settled in nicely, as has Nanika, and soon enough she’ll start hanging out with her own friends instead of him when college starts up.

As for himself, he goes to three more job interviews, with call-backs for two of them. They’re not his dream job ― he doesn’t really have one at all ― but they’re all good positions and most of all, he can see himself working there while preserving time for himself and Alluka and his friends. Speaking of friends, Leorio and Kurapika are disgustingly kind to him for about a week before Killua tells them to knock it off. Then their old habits kick back in and their conversations are just as boisterous as they were before.

Carried on the tide of quotidienne routine and familiar faces, Killua picks himself back up. Since his eating patterns had gone back to normal, he starts working out at the gym again. He spring-cleans the entire apartment when he’s bored. He takes long walks on the beach when the weather’s nice, but keeps his skateboard at the back of his closet, telling himself he’ll go when he’s in the mood. The mood never comes. But for the most part, he manages to forget about it.

It’s most insidious at night. He’ll be scrolling through his phone, thinking of nothing in particular, and he’ll roll around in bed to show someone something and he won’t be there. Or when he hears footsteps outside in the hallway and for a moment he catches his breath, but it won’t be him. At night, it’s a slippery slope into heartbreak.

Distractions are all good and fine, but at the end of the day he misses Gon. He misses his open smile, the kindness in his amber-brown eyes, the crazy stupid antics they were always up to whenever they were together. He misses the warmth of Gon’s back against his when he wakes in the morning, and the memory of it is strong enough to make him curl up in bed, containing himself, holding in the rush of emotions that implode inside. He just wants to see him again, or hear his voice.

One night, he can’t stand the loneliness. He gives up on tossing and turning and gets up instead. Killua pads to the kitchen, the cold tiles stinging his feet, and turns on the light. The silverware in their glass cases wink at him jeeringly. The fluorescent above buzzes. He drinks a glass of water, and then leans against the counter, looking out of the window. There’s no moon out tonight.

He remembers the first night he had met Gon. He had been leaning against the counter just like this. Obviously he’d been scared and shocked at the time, but now he wants nothing more than for Gon to appear again, even if it’s just to say goodbye. This kitchen is crammed with other memories, too, and laughter and hugs and the genuine joy of being next to someone he loved. The inky blackness outside the window should make him feel lonely, but instead Killua takes comfort in it, his reflection looking back at him with heavy eyes. This is a place of love.

Impulsively, he picks up his phone and selects some music. Very quietly, so as to not wake Alluka, the sound of a piano fills the small kitchen. It’s a waltz. 

Strangely, there’s a part at the back of his mind that feels at peace. Killua knows he’s hurting and that he’ll probably hurt like this for a long time. But he’s always known, even if he denied it, that Gon was going to leave, ever since Gon had looked at him and realized that Killua was in love and then the guilt had come crashing down on his face like a wave. 

It’s easier to accept it. Gon is going, and that’s his choice, and there’s nothing Killua can do to stop it.

Doesn’t mean he still can’t miss him, though. Or even be a little mad.

He doesn’t know when exactly Gon appears, or how long he had been standing there, invisible. He only knows that there is a slight movement in the window’s reflection, and when he turns his head, Gon is there in front of him. He looks unchanged, ghostly form just as firm and opaque as ever, but quiet sorrow rests on his lips.

“I missed you,” Killua says. It’s useless to pretend otherwise. He should be surprised, or angry, he should yell at Gon for disappearing for weeks without a word, but now that he’s here in front of him, that’s all his stupid lovesick brain can come up with.

“I did too.” Gon reaches out hesitantly and Killua catches his hands. They’re warm and calloused. Gon looks down and squeezes them.

“Where did you go?”

“I visited my grave, and Aunt Mito’s,” Gon says. “I couldn’t find Kite’s. He probably died buried in some mass grave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

They fall silent. Nighttime casts a spell on this room, as if they’re on another plane altogether, separated from reality. The piano melody behind them fills the air. Gon still doesn’t say anything, so Killua speaks again.

“Why did you come back?”

“I know I shouldn’t have left like I did.”

“You didn’t even find out how  _ you _ died.”

“Do you know?”

“You stormed their barracks. That’s answer enough, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“By yourself.”

“By myself,” Gon echoes.

“That’s not what I was asking, though,” Killua says. “Why did you come back? Why haven’t you passed on?”

Gon raises his eyes and meets Killua’s. They’re deep brown, and under the harsh fluorescents they shine like gemstones.

“I haven’t completed what I left undone,” he says. “It wasn’t the end of the story, what we saw. There’s ― ”

“One more dream,” Killua finishes for him. “So you came back to me.”

Gon turns his head to the side. “And because I wanted to see you again.”

“Yeah.”

“I  _ did _ .” He grips Killua’s hands and makes him look him in the eyes. “I really did. I wanted to say goodbye properly.”

“Should’ve said that before you up and left.”

“I’m sorry, Killua. I really am. All I do is hurt you.”

Killua sighs. He presses his back against the counter, and Gon leans in, lifting their hands between their chests. 

“All I ever did was hurt you,” Gon continues. “And I would hurt you more by staying, maybe not now, but in the future.”

“We could make it work if we wanted to,” Killua says, not sure if he even believes what he’s saying.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. You don’t deserve that.”

Killua closes his eyes. He can’t keep the hurt from leaking out of his voice when he speaks. It’s selfish, but he thinks he’s earned the right to honesty from Gon.

“Do you even  _ want _ to stay with me?”

“Are you kidding?” Gon says. He lifts Killua’s hands to his lips and kisses it, very softly. “You’re the best thing I ever had.”

The piano swells around them, filling the silence with its mournful tune. Any other time, with any other person in any other life, Killua might be doing something different. It’s a waltz, after all. Made for two people to dance.

But Gon isn’t just any other person, he’s Killua’s. Killua might never find someone like him again.

“But you’re gonna go anyways,” Killua says.

“But I’m gonna go anyways.” Gon pauses. “Even if I don’t want to.”

“Well, fuck you too.”

Gon lets out a shocked laugh. After a second, he leans forward. Killua reaches out and hugs him, hands clutching at his back. Gon folds into the embrace, head buried in Killua’s collarbone. Their ribs grind together painfully.

The waltz plays on. Its melody rises and falls, the steady three-beat time keeping it in check, and the chords that accompany it makes his chest ache with sadness. Perhaps the composer had known heartbreak when they made this. Perhaps they had been heartbroken themselves when they made this.

“I don’t want to miss you,” he says.

“I don’t either,” Gon says.

“I’m sorry,” Gon says again. And again.

And again.

Finally Killua sighs and kisses him on the cheek.

What can he say, he can’t stay mad at Gon.

  
  
  


That night they curl up to sleep for the last time in Killua’s bed. Their limbs tangle together, loose and warm. The softness of the sheets sinks them into a cocoon, wrapping them around and around until Killua feels nothing but Gon, sees nothing but his soft eyes in the dark. Their hands are clasped together. Killua listens to the heavy cadence of their breathing and feels himself sinking into sleep. For Gon’s sake as well as his own, he hopes for a good dream to send them off. Right before his consciousness leaves him, he feels the barest touch of Gon’s lips on his forehead.

He’s back in the cottage. His childhood home.

Killua almost cries right then and there. He’s reverted back to child-Gon, who knows nothing of pain and darkness and death. This Gon has only ever held a fishing rod in his hands, not a gun. Killua stands in the middle of the sun-soaked lawn, the fresh ocean breeze gusting around him, the baby flowers pushing up through the grass. It’s spring.

Killua doesn’t want to go inside the house. He could stand outside like a sundial, soaking in its warmth and listening to the crash of the ocean in the far distance. He would stand here even in rain if it meant that he’d never have to leave. Anything to prolong this moment. But this is a memory, after all, and child-Gon has no such reservations. He bounces through the door, shucking off his shoes.

“Aunt Mito!” he calls. “Where are you?”

“Upstairs,” she shouts back.

“Come down! I wanna show you something!”

“Give me a second!”

After a few seconds he hears her descending, and then his Aunt Mito stands in front of him, tall and comfortable as always, her white apron coming slightly loose. She tightens it behind her as she takes in his appearance.

“Oh, Gon,” she sighs, and brushes back his hair. Killua looks down at himself and realizes that he’s covered in dirt. His knees, too, are grazed and pink.

“Sorry.”

“Go take a bath.”

“I will, but first, but first!” He tugs at her hand. She follows him out the door.

He leads her to the back of the house where it meets the fringe of the forest. There’s a hedge to separate their house from wild shrubbery, but vines and leaves creep over anyway. The air here is heady with the scent of dirt and greenery.

Towards the end of the hedge, there’s a small hole near the ground. Gon bends down and motions for her to do the same.

Gon brushes aside the prickly bramble. In the hole lies a small baby possum, no bigger than the palm of his hand. Leaves and twigs surround its little body. It’s not moving. Killua sees it and recognizes the signs, but Gon doesn’t. He points at it.

“I think it’s hurt,” he says. “Can we heal him?”

Aunt Mito takes a closer look. She reaches out a reluctant hand and touches the possum. Then she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Gon. I think it’s dead.”

“Oh.” He feels his face fall. “We can’t fix him?”

“No,” she says. “But we can give him a nice burial.”

So that’s what they do, squatting under the heat to dig a hole in the ground. Mito brings a shovel, but Gon claws at the ground with his bare hands, dirt getting under his nails and on his clothes. At the end of it his hands barely have any skin showing at all.

Gon lays the possum in the hole and covers it gently with leaves, layering them together like a shroud. Mito picks a few flowers, daisies he thinks, and lays them down on top. Then they shovel the dirt back on top.

They put their palms together and Mito says a prayer.

Killua suddenly remembers Kite. With no grave and no flowers and no one to stand over his final resting place and grieve for him. His fate was not unique. It wasn’t even unique to soldiers, because war, after all, did not discriminate between killers and the innocent. 

“Where do they go when they die?” Gon asks.

“Back to nature,” she replies.

“So we do, too?”

“Yes, Gon,” she says. “But you won’t, not for a long time.”

“Good,” he decides. “I like being alive.”

“Do you? I’m glad,” Mito says. Her smile is the sun, and it’s directed solely at him. Not for the first time, Killua realizes where Gon gets his kindness and empathy and capacity for love. It’s all in the woman standing in front of him, mother to him in all but name. Gon was lucky to grow up with a love like this, even if he hadn’t remembered it as a ghost. A kind of love that asked nothing in return except the assurance that he would be happy and alive. 

“You won’t die either, will you?” Gon asks suspiciously.

She laughs. “No, hopefully not for a long time.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, Gon. Nature isn’t neat or predictable like that. My time will come when it comes.”

“I don’t want to be alive when you aren’t,” he says cheerfully.

The warm expression shuts off on Mito’s face, quick as the sun disappearing into clouds. She bends down so that she’s eye level with Gon. He looks up at her face.

“Gon,” Aunt Mito says. “Do you know what the saddest thing is for a parent?”

He thinks about it. “When you have to share your cookies with me?”

“No. The worst thing in the world for a parent is for a child to die before their mother.”

“Oh.” That’s very far off from his answer. “Okay.”

There’s a quiet desperation in Mito’s eyes. From Killua’s perspective, he knows that she already sees the storm brewing on the horizon, the whispers of war, passed from ear to ear, traveling from town to town through the marketplaces. She’s already prepared for starvation and strikes and worse. Gon won’t know about it until years later, though, when he’s handed a gun for the first time.

“I want you to promise me,” she says. “That you won’t die before I do.”

Gon grins at her. That’s easy. Gon is a reckless child but he’s never been seriously hurt before. And he has Mito and Kite to take care of him, after all.

“Okay. I promise.”

They link pinkies together. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” they chant. “Whoever lies has to swallow a thousand needles.” They tap thumbs together and Gon giggles.

“Don’t break the promise now,” Aunt Mito says, suddenly cheerful again. “Or I’ll make you apologize even after you’re dead.”

  
  
  


The first thing Gon is aware of when he wakes up is that he needs to sneeze. Killua’s hair is tickling his nose, so he moves his head back, and as he does, the tears pooling in his eyes roll out and down his cheeks. He wipes them away, careful not to jostle Killua. He’s still sleeping, his face relaxed and open as a child’s.

It’s raining outside, the gentle fall of the rain creating a shower of white noise, but the sun is still out. The pale morning light streams in. It illuminates Killua’s hair, which glows silver. Gon stares at it. Then he stares at Killua’s face, marveling at the beauty of it, his upturned nose and barely-there freckles and dark eyelashes.

From the first time he had met Killua he had been awestruck at how bright and graceful this boy had been, so clearly unnerved by a ghost in his kitchen, but bold and snappy nonetheless. He thought, looking into Killua's guarded face, that this boy had clearly seen things worse, and had shuttered his heart behind a veneer of impenetrability. 

But Killua is Killua, heart of gold and all, and Gon is Gon, recklessly destructive but loving him anyway. To think that a broken promise had led him to  _ this. _

Sometimes Gon felt bad for worrying his Aunt Mito, and sometimes he didn’t.

He’s glad that he woke up early, if only just to be able to watch Killua wake. 

He shifts slightly, and Killua makes a grumbling noise. His eyelids flutter, slowly at first, then quicker as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. Gon hugs him from the back, relishing in their combined warmth under the blankets. When he buries his face in the crook of Killua’s neck, he can smell the scent of lemons on his skin. Very sweet, very soft.

He’ll miss this.

But after all, Killua deserved only the best.

Killua mumbles something and snuggles back into the sheets, away from the sound of the rain. His hands rest on top of Gon’s, thumbs rubbing on the inside of Gon’s wrists.

“What?” Gon says.

“I said, stop staring.”

“Can’t help it.”

Killua opens one eye. His irises are such a pretty color. The blue of forget-me-nots.

“Shut up,” Killua says, clearly trying not to smile.

“Love you.”

“Shut  _ up _ .”

  
  


They stand in front of her grave. It’s a blustery day. The sky roils and rumbles. Clouds stretch out as far as the eye can see like a grey shroud. There’s a cold front coming tonight, and right now the wind carries hints of ice with it. They’re in a public graveyard, and an old one too, some of the headstones crumbling and covered in moss. Most of the letters aren’t legible anymore.

Gon stands to his side, hand in Killua’s. They’re both wearing black. They stare down at the grave, with its faded lettering and the small bunch of flowers laid on top of the soil. Right next to Mito Freecss is another headstone, but neither Killua nor Gon look at it.

Gon speaks. When he does, his voice is quiet and watery.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Mito,” he says. “I broke our promise.”

A gust of wind howls past them. They’re far away from the coast, but it still smells like the ocean. Killua shivers and grips Gon’s hand tighter.

Mito hadn’t been far behind him. When the war had ended, a year after Gon’s death, a sickness had ravaged their little town, the delayed onset of years of burned cropland and bodies in the river. Mito, already weak and suffering from grief, had succumbed to it as many others had. 

“This is Killua,” Gon says suddenly. Killua whips his head up. 

“He helped me find you,” he continues. “You would’ve loved him.”

He falls silent. Killua brings their linked hands up to his face and kisses the back of Gon’s knuckles, very softly. Gon glances at him and smiles.

“I think I’m ready to go,” he says. “I apologized.”

“But did you swallow a thousand needles?”

Gon makes a face. “I don’t think Aunt Mito would’ve wanted . . . ”

“Gon, I’m kidding.”

A pause.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks.

Killua laughs softly. On the one hand, Gon is his first true love and his best friend in the world, and there’s no doubt that he’ll wake up every morning aching inside, missing him. He’ll make too much food for dinner and he’ll turn around to make a joke that only the two of them know and Gon won’t be around to hear it. He’ll listen to the piano waltz at night in their bed that’s too big for just one person.

But at the same time, he has Alluka and all of his friends. Illumi is gone. He has people who love him, and Gon deserves to pass on to be with the ones who love him, like Aunt Mito. If Killua had a choice, he would still want to grow old with Gon, selfish or not, but if Gon chooses to leave, there’s not much he can do about it. And strangely, he’s calmer nowadays. Once it would’ve been the end of the world if Gon left, but now it isn’t. 

Killua knows that Gon’s love is not a reflection of his worth. He’ll survive.

“I’ll survive,” he says.

“Good,” Gon says. He grins. “You wanna promise?”

“Hell no,” Killua says. “I’ve had enough of ghosts.”

“Mean,” Gon pouts. Killua smiles and grabs his face so that they can kiss. It’s slow and sweet and says everything he wants to say.

“Killua,” Gon says, “Out of all the people in the world it could’ve been, I’m glad it was you.”

“Idiot,” he replies, his throat tight.

Gon laughs.

He begins to fade. First it starts in his hands and feet, then it travels up his limbs, turning his skin translucent and then completely transparent, whisking away parts of him like the wind blows away sand on the beach. His form, once so solid, dissolves into empty air.

Bit by bit, he disappears. Killua watches him go.

Finally the only thing left is his face, then his smile.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Killua whispers.

Then he’s gone.

Killua stays in front of the graves for a long time. The wind makes a keening sound as it passes through the holes in the stone. The air fills with the scent of the sea, even though the gravesite is far away from the coast. The sky rumbles, mourning with him. 

Eventually he picks himself up and heads home.

_ epilogue: five years later _

Killua sighs and rubs his chin wearily.

Jesus, he’s tired.

He likes his new client, who’s an old geezer but who can, at least, take a joke. The problem is, Netero is full of jokes. The new website isn’t progressing as fast as he’d like it to because Netero enjoyed sending him memes he found on Facebook instead of answering his queries about content preferences and security updates. Which is fine, it’s better than dealing with an uptight influencer who’s full of themself, but it does drag at his pace a little. And Killua takes pride in his pace. As senior editor, it’s his name and his paycheck riding on most of their websites.

After all this time, he had never found a ‘dream job’. There probably wasn’t anything like that out there for him.

He kicks off the ground with his feet and the chair rolls away from the desk. After years of living in this two-bedroom apartment, his bedroom is his safe haven. It’s covered in tradition and familiarity like a layer of sediment that settles on the river bed, eventually fusing into stone for centuries to come. The small desk, the wide closet, the neat bed, his various photographs and memorabilia that scatter around the room ― all are reminders of what it took to get there.

It’s late at night, almost eleven o’clock. He wonders where Alluka is. She’s either studying or hanging out with her friends. She’s going to graduate college soon, which is a thought that terrifies Killua as much as he’s excited for her. He hadn’t realized how fast time flies.

The week before, Alluka had told him that she was considering going to graduate school for a Masters in Psychology. Her top university was far away from where they currently lived, which meant she would have to look for new roommates to rent a place.

“I’m sure there are job opportunities there too,” Killua had said.

“ _ No _ , Brother, you’re not moving for me. Stay here. You love this house.”

“Besides,” she’d added, only half-joking. “You’re getting too old to be uprooting yourself like that.”

That led to an argument about ageism and the perceived notion that only the young were allowed to move freely in life. Killua was twenty-seven, not eighty and retired, and he could move wherever he pleased, thank you very much.

However, Alluka’s first point still stood. Killua loved this house, the very first place he’d called his own. He loved the proximity to the ocean, the look of the sky in the afternoon when the sun was setting and it painted the heavens with a pastel palette so beautiful that he still took photographs occasionally, even if Alluka teased him about sentimentality. He loved feeling like he belonged.

True, many of his friends had moved away. Only Leorio still worked in the general hospital nearby, but Kurapika and Senritsu had relocated to larger cities, citing the abundance of job opportunities. Palm ran a boutique shop the next town over, and Ikalgo was off doing nature conservation work abroad. Zushi had gone to the countryside to take care of his ailing grandmother. And after Alluka left, if she did, Killua would be somewhat more lonely than he had been for a long time.

It doesn’t scare him as much as it used to.

Still, he would miss her terribly. Just because he would be okay with it eventually didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel it. Just like it had been with Gon.

A text comes in from Leorio.

_ Wanna grab drinks next weekend? Haven’t seen you in ages. Invite Alluka. _

_ Sure _ , Killua types back.  _ Alluka probably can’t though, she’s cramming. _

_ Ah. Brings back memories. _

After a few seconds his phone pings again.

_ It’s a supermoon tonight _ , Leorio says.

Killua stretches. Then he gets up from his chair and changes clothes. Grabbing his keys and phone but leaving his wallet behind, Killua puts on his sneakers and heads out of the apartment.

The night is balmy and sweet. Rows of houses pass by, one by one, going from tall apartments to squat houses and finally to nothing at all, just an empty stretch of road before the sand begins. Even though their little coastal town had been modernized and expanded recently, this stretch of shoreline was thankfully protected from all that. It remained a favorite and often secret spot for locals.

Killua takes off his shoes. At first he just stands on the beach, looking out at the sea. Then, on a whim, he walks up to the water. Sand tickles his feet, becoming damper and softer until he’s standing in the ocean. The waves lap hungrily at his ankles, stinging his calves, until he’s finally up to his knees. The ends of his trousers stick to his skin.

The moon glints off the waves. He can’t tell the difference between a normal full moon and a supermoon, but tonight it is truly colossal, a huge silver disk in the sky, so large that it seems to fill the entire cosmos. It makes him feel tiny by comparison.

It makes him feel as if someone is watching him right now. 

He remembers one night five years ago. The moon had been similar in size and shape. The stars and all their constellations were out on full display. They were on the beach that time, not the day of the fireworks party, but a different night. They’d sat there, listening to the crash of the waves. Killua had told him about his childhood love for pirates.

“You have that swashbuckling vibe,” Gon had agreed. Killua asked him what the hell that meant.

“You’re a poser, Killua,” he’d said, laughing, and Killua had flicked sand on him as punishment.

“I’m not,” he huffed, because truthfully that dug at his insecurities.

“You’re not,” Gon said. “But you do pose sometimes.”

“I do?”

“You pretend.”

“Everyone pretends.”

“I guess.”

Then Gon had leaned forward and brushed some sand off Killua’s hair, and his face had been so close, close enough to see the specks of gold in amber eyes. In that moment Killua felt delirious. In that moment he could have conquered the world, he could have said anything.

“Don’t pretend with me,” Gon had said, and Killua had shoved him away with a scoff and  _ You say the weirdest shit sometimes. _

Killua smiles as he remembers. What an idiot.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought of Gon. Occasionally memories wafted up to his mind, like these short snatches of conversation and fond remembrances. Most of the time they were like buried treasure, surfacing only when he saw something that reminded him of Gon, or when his mind was quiet and wandering at night. He never quite left Killua’s mind, though. He probably never would.

There’s something terribly and eternally human about the capacity to remember. Or perhaps it was the inability to forget.

For a second he thinks that his memory is so vivid that he’s hallucinating sounds. The water is freezing cold. But he abruptly realizes that there is someone shouting at him. The water’s up to his thighs now, and he can’t feel them anymore. Killua shudders and turns around.

Someone’s standing at the edge of the water, waving his hands. A man, dressed in bright jogging wear. He has short black hair and a deep tan, visible even in the glow of moonlight.

“Hey!” he calls. “Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern.

Killua stares.

His mind is playing tricks on him. It must be.

“Do you need me to call someone?” the man asks him.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

The moon glows bright and winks, its light reflecting off the sea.

“Are you okay?” Gon repeats. His face is bemused, worried for a stranger standing in the ocean in the dead of night. “Do you . . . um, wanna get out of there?”

He starts wading into the water when Killua doesn’t respond. Killua comes to his senses and shakes his head, making his way back to dry land. His legs slosh through the water, slow and heavy, and it feels like it takes ages to get there. Gon watches him come up and waits until he reaches land to speak again. His voice is honey, warm and strong as ever.

“What’s your name?” he says.

Killua could cry.

Sometimes the universe is cruel. It brings him into this life against his will, and makes him fight for love and companionship. It wraps him up in wounds and burdens that take decades to wear off. It drops off a ghost in his apartment and takes him away just as he begins to love.

“I’m Killua. Killua Zoldyck,” he says.

Then again, sometimes it’s kind. Sometimes it says to him,  _ I will give you another chance _ . Sometimes it gives him a gift that has the power to flip his whole life around and make him glad to be alive.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll take what he can get, over and over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man oh man this really is the end, isn't it?
> 
> it was a fun ride y'all
> 
> more notes in the extra chapter bc i didn't want to clog up the bottom of this page, please check it out if you want to hear me ramble. if not, thank you so much for the support and love you've shown me throughout, and let's keep this hxh brainrot going!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> extra chapter just for notes and ramblings from yours truly. don't expect anything new, or correct grammar, for that matter

If you're here, it means you'd like to see the stupid thoughts straight out of my head without the filter of a revision process! It means that this fic is well and truly done, and for that I am so grateful to you all for the kudos and comments, because each and every one has made my day.

1\. I'm proud of myself for finishing this! 40k is the longest I've written and hopefully next time I'll surpass that

2\. Alluka is the bravest character in this series and I'm so mad that she doesn't have an OST theme for herself.

2a. Speaking of character themes, I am in LOVE with the composer for the 2011 anime series. Gon’s theme is “The World of Adventures”, the happy-go-lucky soundtrack that gives us a boost of serotonin every time we hear it. It’s in the major key, and it’s a march, uplifting and fast-paced and energetic. But we hear Gon’s motif repeated in “Kyou Namida ~ Tomo Namida”, a direct deconstruction of “The World of Adventures”. It’s sad and haunting, the piano is disjointed, and it’s in the minor key. Obviously this represents what goes down in CA arc :((

2b. Killua’s main theme, on the other hand, is a waltz (“Ginpatsu no Shounen”), meant for two people, like how Killua, as a character, is never meant to be alone. He was always destined to love and be loved by others. His waltz is in the minor key, similar to its counterpart (“Ginpatsu no Lullaby”), except the latter is never actually used in the series. Interestingly, though, both pieces end on a  _ major _ key. Killua as a character is tragic. But at the end of his journey, there’s always hope and happiness - that there's his character arc!

3\. When I wrote the kitchen scene in this chapter, I listened to Chet Baker's "I Get Along Without You Very Well" because the sad dreamy atmosphere fit perfectly. Of all the scenes I wrote in this entire fic, the kitchen scene was first, actually, and it was supposed to be a lot more bitter and angsty, because Killua resented Gon a lot for leaving. But after I worked through the other scenes and hammered out the plot, I found that the bitterness leaked away bit by bit, and in the end all I had left was sadness and a lot of love.

4\. Music rec time! I wrote Gon's one and only POV in this chapter while listening to Amber Run's "The Weight", which is the most romantic song I've ever heard in my life. If anyone sang that about me I think I'd perish on the spot.

5\. I’m begging you to please listen to Amanda Palmer’s song “Machete” it was written for killugon. Read the lyrics and bawl your eyes out.

6\. I'm thinking of a sequel to phantom pains. In this, I would write mainly (and perhaps only) from Gon's perspective. It would be set a couple of months after this fic, when Gon and Killua are dating. The plot would mostly revolve around Gon not really understanding why Killua is at times overly familiar with him, why he knows things about him that Gon isn't sure he's told him before. At times, Killua looks at his face with such a sadness and a hurt like he's peeling flimsy wallpaper off his childhood bedroom only to find cracks in the wall. Most of all, though, he wonders why Killua won't introduce him to any of his friends. Alluka knows the reason but she won't tell him.

Of course, because I'm messy like that, I would add in little details like Alluka disapproving of Killua keeping the past a secret. Since Gon overhears part of the conversation, he thinks Killua is hung up on an ex and that's why he acts so weird sometimes. Maybe, just maybe, Killua would have some slips of the tongue (while drunk?) that confirm this. I don't know how I would end this fic, but it seems like an idea worth exploring - to me, that is. Most of it will be dramatic as is my due, but I'd like to sneak in some character study there too.

7\. Anyhow, thank you all so much for sticking with me this long! I love y'all and hope you've had a decent time with this fic. I'm exhausted and gonna take a long rest now, but hopefully I'll write something in the future!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve written and/or planned the full story and I’ll be updating each week barring any unexpected events, so *youtuber voice* go ahead and hit that like and subscribe button!
> 
> (in all seriousness I love it when I get kudos and comments!!!)


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